


Meet You In My Dreams

by Suguru_Slut



Series: Haikyuu Song Fics galore [10]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassins & Hitmen, Awkward Dates, Babysitting, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Bokuaka - Freeform, Breaking Up & Making Up, Chair Sex, Character Development, Childhood Memories, Childhood Sweethearts, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Music, Christmas Smut, Crimes & Criminals, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute Kids, Dancing, Dating, Deepthroating, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Doggy Style, Domestic Fluff, Drama & Romance, Evil Ex, Evil Ex Husband, Ex Hitman, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Drama, Family Fluff, Fast Food, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, Fist Fights, Food Trucks, Forehead Kisses, Framed for murder, Friends to Lovers, Gentle Kissing, Good Boy Kink, HELL YEA, Heartbreak, Holding Hands, Hurts So Good, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Lies, Loss of Trust, M/M, Makeup Sex, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Naked Cuddling, Near Death, Near Death Experiences, Neck Kissing, New Family, Obsessive Behavior, One True Pairing, Organized Crime, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Past Violence, Plans For The Future, Post Mpreg, Post-Betrayal, Post-Break Up, Post-Divorce, Prison, Protectiveness, Public Blow Jobs, Reconciliation Sex, Rough Kissing, Rough Oral Sex, Second Chances, Secret Children, Sexual Humor, Shooting Guns, Single Parents, Sloppy Makeouts, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Stalking, Starting Over, Surprise Kissing, Threats of Violence, True Love, Trust Issues, Violence, Winning Them Back, Yakuza, ballerino!Akaashi, but not too much Angst, hitman!Bokuto, in the latter half, throat fuck, well background yakuza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:07:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 152,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25233616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suguru_Slut/pseuds/Suguru_Slut
Summary: Bokuto Koutarou is released from prison after a long seven years, only to discover the love of his life already has a family; one he has no place in. But he won't let Akaashi go this time. Him or his young son, whose golden eyes bare a close resemblance to Bokuto's own...As more secrets of the past unfold, will Bokuto be able to leave his old life behind, or will he be forced to break the promise he made to Akaashi seven-years before in order to save him and his son from the wrath of another yakuza?(Now withARTby @gnappapon-art and@tsuumeion twitter!)
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Haruki Komi/Shirofuku Yukie, Konoha Akinori/Sarukui Yamato, Past Akaashi Keiji/Shirabu Kenjirou
Series: Haikyuu Song Fics galore [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1174004
Comments: 246
Kudos: 522





	1. "i know you're afraid"

**Author's Note:**

> *yakuza theme is more of a background/flashback scenes in this fic until the latter half of the chapters*  
> Title and lyric references taken from the amazing G-Dragon's song "Untitled 2014"😍🎼 aka my wedding song if anyone is ever desperate enough to marry me

“ _I know it’s hard and difficult_

_To come into me_

_I know you’re afraid_

_And don’t wanna be hurt anymore_ ”

Seven years. Eighty-four months. Two-thousand five-hundred and fifty-six days. Over sixty-one thousand hours. For seven long years, Bokuto had been trapped inside that prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Yes, he was a hitman, and yes, the Fukurodani _oyabun_ had asked him to kill that particular person, but Bokuto hadn’t been the one who beat the guy to death and left evidence laying around everywhere. He was a professional, and professionals didn’t leave murder weapons behind. Someone from Fukurodani must have had it in for him, though, because the entire clan let him take the fall, banishing him from their group and severing all ties with him. Too many nights Bokuto had spent sitting awake in his cell, listening, waiting for whichever hitman they sent inside to sneak towards his cell; that happened on more than one occasion, and luckily Koutarou hadn’t gotten in trouble because he killed the “inmate” in self-defense.

Hitmen weren’t really the problem. Bokuto was the best in Japan, and no one else could even compare themselves to him. Hitmen were the least of his problems on the inside. What Bokuto really had to worry about was regular inmates, the ones without yakuza backgrounds or even violent crime records. The person he supposedly murdered was a popular politician, a do-gooder who helped clean up the city, who was known to visit inmates and get their advice on certain issues. It wasn’t often that criminals liked politicians, but Bokuto quickly learned that this was an exception. For seven years he honed his survival skills even further, watching over his shoulder every second of every day, making sure his back was to the wall, never entering a room without knowing _exactly_ who was inside. Dozens of inmates who rarely caused trouble died during Bokuto Koutarou’s time in prison because of their thirst for revenge, poor choice of victim and weak battle skills.

Now, those seven-years were up, a shockingly short sentence for someone who committed murder. Bokuto left the prison with his back tattoo ink dull, his trust non-existent, and his heart determined to make a change. Getting revenge for whoever framed him could wait many lifetimes. Koutarou wasn’t over it, but he had wasted enough of his life in a cell to realize that lifestyle was no longer an option (like it had ever been) if he really wanted to be happy. Fucking up the best thing that ever happened to him was lesson enough, if the prison sentence and betrayal of his yakuza family wasn’t enough.

“Excuse me, sir, could I get a grilled saba?”

“Coming right up.”

So Bokuto’s new job as a fish cook at _Yukie’s Sakana_ didn’t have as glamorous benefits as being Japan’s top hitman did. So what if he always smelled like fish guts when he went home? So what if he made a meager 1,180 yen an hour? Bokuto could have easily lived off his savings for several lifetimes, but he was teaching himself another lesson; while he got many offers from gyms, sports teams, bodyguard hirers and even other yakuza clans, Bokuto accepted Yukie’s offer because he wanted a change of pace. Frying fish and cleaning kitchen utensils was definitely a different pace than sniping victims, crawling on rooves and strangling enemies to death. Yukie was one of his only true friends left after Fukurodani left him to hang dry. He liked her casual attitude, and even more so, he liked her honesty; there was no double-edged sword with Yukie. What you saw was what you got.

“Since it’s slowing down, I’m going to head home,” Yukie sighed, taking off her apron in the small cart parked beside a public courtyard. “You’ll be okay, won’t you?”

“Course. I’m sure your fiancé is waiting up for you,” Bokuto teased, trying to get her to blush.

“ _Duh_.” Yukie never blushed. “I’ll see you Monday afternoon, okay? Have a good weekend off.”

“You too, Yukie. Love you!”

Yukie exited the cart and headed towards her car, driving off into the night and leaving Bokuto alone; he leaned his elbows on the counter and peeked through the window at all the people strolling by, exhaling a deep sigh. Bokuto had missed seeing a variety of people, families and old ladies and kids running around…whenever he was the closer he liked to sit and observe everyone that walked past their cart, curious about their lives and their relationships. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find amongst the thousands of people, but every night, Bokuto Koutarou found himself doing the exact same thing: watching and waiting.

 _Why am I doing this?_ Bokuto asked himself for the millionth time since getting out of prison a few months ago. _Why aren’t I going after the bastards who set me up? Why didn’t I go to Fukurodani and demand they let me back in the family? Ugh. Why am I even considering that…idiot. I don’t want anything to do with them. I’ll eat fish every day for the rest of my life before I went back to them!_

A woman’s giggle interrupted his thoughts. Bokuto glanced over to where a young couple was walking, arms linked together, cheeks bright with joy and eyes deep with affection. The man looked young, maybe fresh out of university, but he looked elated, smiling over at his girlfriend happily. He would probably do whatever she said, hell or high water. Koutarou was like that, too, once upon a time, which brought him back to the question he still did not have an answer for.

 _…You know why_ , a voice cruelly reminded him as Koutarou’s golden eyes watched the couple. _Akaashi_.

Akaashi Keiji. That was a name Bokuto hadn’t dared say out-loud for seven-years. (Well, except when he was jerking off in prison, but that was beside the point.) Akaashi, the ballet student with beautiful black hair that sat messily atop his head, the seventeen-year-old working at the lavish clothing store where businessmen and yakuza alike shopped, the attendant who stole Bokuto’s heart the minute he walked in to buy a new suit, the man he devoted his life to for four incredible years until that fateful spring day seven-years ago…

“Hey, old man!”

Bokuto didn’t know he was being spoken to until he saw hands waving at him from below the cart; he stuck his head out a little further, spotting an elementary aged boy with wild black hair and cat-like eyes trying to get his attention.

“Oh, you’re not old—your hair is grey, so I thought you were,” The little boy continued like he was thinking out-loud. “May I have a grilled salted mackerel pike, please?”

“You got it, buddy,” Bokuto nodded, grabbing a fresh fish from the cooler and slapping it down on the grill.

“Can you cut it up into little pieces, too? I’m special, so Yukie-san always does that just for me.”

“You’re a spunky little one,” Koutarou snorted. “Your parents must smack you over the head a lot, huh?”

“My mom says he wants to sometimes, but that physical punishment results in nothing but an increase in determination, repressed emotions and an untrusting child.”

Bokuto’s cackling laugh echoed through the entire courtyard, getting a grin out of the little boy as well.

“Oh man, I haven’t laughed in a long time,” Bokuto chuckled to himself, cutting the grilled fish up into smaller pieces. “You’re a hoot, kid.”

“I’m Tetsurou!” The boy introduced happily, pleased he had impressed someone with his knowledge. “Did you use the word ‘hoot’ because you look like an owl?”

 _This kid is brutal! I’m not sure whether I should scold him or laugh again_ , Bokuto wondered.

“I get that a lot.” _Used to, anyway_. “Here you go, Tetsurou: one grilled mackerel pike, cut up into small pieces.”

“With salt sprinkled on the top?”

“You got it.”

“Yum!” Tetsurou accepted the bundle of fish and took a big whiff, nodding at the succulent scent that filled his nostrils. Bokuto thought he would pay and be on his way, but the child kept standing by the fish stand, staring up at the cook. His yellow eyes were piercing and playful, blinking up at Bokuto innocently, like he was waiting for something else to happen. He reminded the ex-hitman of himself at a younger age, except this kid probably had a stable home life and money to pay for his meal.

“Can I get you anything else, buddy?”

“No,” Tetsurou answered simply. “I’m just looking at you.”

“Okay,” Bokuto snorted. “Find anything interesting?”

“Hmm...” The messy-haired boy looked him up and down. “You work at a fish cart, which says you’re desperate for a job, but looking at your face and physique, I’d say you actually have a lot of money. You don’t _look_ like a fry cook, but you kinda look like a bodybuilder, so maybe you did that before you worked here. Obviously you’re single, because everyone who works at food carts must be single and antisocial.”

“Antisocial? No way!”

“Yeah huh!”

“Well, you wanna know what I think when I look at _you_?”

“What, what?!” Tetsurou asked excitedly.

“You’re about the size of a third grader, but you’re actually around six or seven,” Bokuto theorized, narrowing his eyes at Tetsurou like he was focusing very hard. “You came to the stand alone because you were taught to be independent, and you’re confident in yourself enough to ask for exactly what you want. Your jacket and nice sneakers tell me your home life is comfortable, and one or both of your parents care about you, because someone attempted to comb your hair this morning. That being said, you being here alone is suspicious, because someone must be missing you; either you hurried away because you enjoy making them worry, or your impulsive childish instincts took over and led you here because you really wanted grilled mackerel pike for dinner. Am I right?”

Yellow eyes blinked dumbly up at Bokuto, whose golden ones sparkled right back.

“Wow,” Tetsurou said in awe. “I’ve never met a psychic before! Do you know what color my underwear are?!”

Koutarou laughed again, shaking his head at how hilarious this kid was. _He must give his parents a run for their money._

“I’m no psychic, kid. Just a fish fryer, nothing more, nothing less.”

“That’s not true! You must have had special training to know all those things about me.”

_Hitman training probably doesn’t count._

“So I was right?” Bokuto smiled. “About what, exactly?”

“Well, I’m six years old, but I test two levels above my grade. I’m _super_ confident in myself, and my bed is really comfy, but my hair never wants to cooperate. I accidentally ran away from my babysitter Kaori because I saw that your stand was open and I wanted fish for dinner—my mommy is at his show right now, but he really loves me,” Tetsurou confirmed with a nod. Man, this kid could talk. “Was I right about you, fish fryer-san?”

“It’s Bokuto. I did do some bodybuilding of sorts before I worked here, but I’m not that desperate for a job. I am single, but I wouldn’t consider myself antisocial.”

“Oh…I was way off, then. Dang.”

Koutarou smiled at the boy again, getting one in return as they observed each other for a minute longer, both equally curious about the other. It was fairly dark out, now, and Bokuto didn’t want the kid to get lost, so he figured he better send him on his way before the drunks came stumbling out for the night.

“Enjoy your fish, Tetsurou-chan,” Bokuto said. “You better get going, before your babysitter calls the cops.”

“Yeah, she gets really dramatic whenever I do stuff like this,” Tetsurou shrugged like he didn’t understand her agony. “Thanks for the mackerel, Bokuto-san! Bye!”

“See you later, kid.”

Tetsurou was the only interesting person Bokuto served that night—only half an hour later did he realize the child had forgotten to pay for his fish. Oh well; Bokuto had a couple extra bucks to make the register even. Another dreary half-hour passed after that, a few customers here and there, and finally it was time to close at ten. Bokuto did the dishes mindlessly, tucked the register away in its safe and cleaned the outside cart; the courtyard was nearly empty by the time he was locking the cart up, but a pair of footsteps alerted him to the presence of someone new. They were arguing, if their tone was anything to go by, and Bokuto’s instincts observed carefully as the footsteps got closer and closer.

“…How many times do I have to tell you, Tetsurou, you cannot keep scamming fish carts into giving you free meals!”

“But Mom, I couldn’t help myself! I was trying to save money!”

“By stealing?”

“That’s not stealing! It’s taking advantage of a situation!”

“You took something without paying for it. _That_ is stealing.” Koutarou could hear the boy grumble to himself. “Now, take this money, give it to the man and say you’re sorry. Let’s hope we don’t get banned from this cart, too…”

Bokuto had just finished putting the tarp over the cart when the footsteps stopped behind him; they were too light to be malevolent, and not light enough where they could have belonged to a hitman, so Bokuto felt himself to be in no danger. What a mistake that was.

“Excuse me, fish fryer-san.”

Turning around, Bokuto spotted Tetsurou, the odd child from earlier standing before him looking sheepish.

“Hey hey, Tetsu-chan! Sorry bud, but I’m just closing up for the night.”

“I know. I just wanted to give you the money I owe you for the mackerel.” Tetsurou held the money out with his little hands towards Bokuto. If he didn’t know Tetsurou’s true personality, he would almost believe with those guilty eyes and pouty lips that he was being sincere. “I’m sorry I took it without paying.”

“Ah, forget about it—I’ve gotten ripped off for way more than 430 yen,” Koutarou brushed off, kneeling down to Tetsurou’s level. _Like that job in China that one time…there’s 30 million yen I’ll never get back._ “You keep that. Consider this your one freebee of the month.”

Kuroo’s eyes flickered left, then he subtly motioned for Bokuto to come closer. He did, and the boy leaned in beside his ear and whispered.

“Listen, I really want to keep this money, too, but my mom won’t let me! Just take it so it looks like I’m being a good kid, okay?”

Bokuto couldn’t hide a snicker again. This kid was just too much. He slyly accepted the bills and slid them into the pockets of his jeans, winking at Tetsurou as he stood back up.

“Pleasure doing business with you, sir,” Tetsurou bowed dramatically. Bokuto couldn’t help but play along, bowing to him as well.

“And with you, sir.”

Bokuto smiled at the boy as he straightened up, and that was when he noticed someone standing a ways behind them, presumably Tetsurou’s mother. The streetlights were just bright enough for Koutarou to notice the long nose, flawless pale skin covered in glittery makeup, messy obsidian hair with a few bangs falling over a smooth forehead, straight, ever-so-serious lips, feathery eyelashes and a pair of stunning bluish green eyes that were more familiar to Koutarou than his own mother’s. His legs were lean, strong as a horse’s, his throat elegant and pale, so kissable it almost hurt, and a perfume that smelled like fresh fruit drifted through the night air, breaking through the scent of fish grease and barreling directly towards Koutarou’s nose. Before he could even think, the ex-hitman’s heart began racing, his blood pressure rose, his eyes dilated, and his lips opened.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto breathed.

The world froze around them, air turning so tense you could cut it with a knife. Akaashi’s eyes widened with shock and disbelief, lips opening so a quiet gasp could fall through them; Bokuto was no better, practically gaping at Keiji, unable to move or think or breathe as he came face-to-face with the love of his life after seven brutal years.

_“Bokuto-san.”_

_“Hm?”_

_“You’re not involved with anything…illegal, are you?” Akaashi asked as he trailed a delicate finger up Bokuto’s forearm._

_“…No.” Koutarou lied. Even now, he still wasn’t sure why he lied._

_“You swear?”_

_Bokuto grinned at his boyfriend, leaning over to plant a big kiss on his cheek._

_“I swear.”_

Bokuto remembered their first kiss in the alleyway of the boutique, how much he had surprised Akaashi by drawing him close and pressing their lips together. He remembered watching Akaashi practice ballet, how graceful and utterly perfect he was gliding across stage, how he liked to do street dancing for fun—for four years they were happy together. That seemed like a lifetime ago, a different world, even. Bokuto almost felt like crying, seeing how far Keiji had come, and how he wasn’t there to see it or support him. It still hurt, even after all this time, the sting of Akaashi’s betrayed gaze as he watched Bokuto be taken away by the police in the middle of their date…

Akaashi didn’t look different, and yet he was _completely_ different: the teenager Koutarou knew dressed lazily, spunky tank-tops, baggy dancer pants, sneakers, maybe a headband or bracelet once in a while—the only time he dressed-up was for work at the boutique and during ballet recitals. But _this_ Akaashi…he was a fashionista if Bokuto ever saw one. Tight black pants, off-white high heels with a small bow on the ankle strap, a thin white scarf thrown around his slender neck, topped off with a pale lavender double-breasted jacket tied around that same bending waist that put many supermodels to shame. Akaashi had underwent a 360 turn from hipster to diva.

What was going through his mind right now, Bokuto wondered? His eyebrows were raised, showing how equally shocked he was, and Koutarou could only watch and force himself to not run over and take Keiji into his arms just like before.

“Tetsurou,” Akaashi addressed shortly, cold tone shattering Bokuto’s daydream. “Come here.”

The boy skipped back to his mother, who pulled him as close as possible while never taking his dazzling eyes off Bokuto. If looks could kill, Koutarou was certain he would be dead already—but that wouldn’t be such a bad ending. After lying to Akaashi for all those years, Bokuto felt like he deserved it.

“What are you _doing_ here, Bokuto?” The beautiful man from Koutarou’s dreams asked nearly in a whisper. His tone was harsh, sharp, unrecognizable from every other tone he used towards Bokuto before everything fell apart. Bokuto hadn’t expected their first conversation after “the incident” to start any better than this, having imagined it a million times, but he still needed a moment to collect himself. _Where do I start?_ Koutarou thought, swallowing tightly. _There’s so many things I want to say, but…_

“I work here,” He motioned back to the cart aimlessly. “Yukie got me a job.”

“Mommy, you know fish fryer-san?” Tetsurou asked curiously. “Why did I have to pay him back, then?!”

“Come on, Tetsu,” Akaashi said suddenly, dismissing them with his hands wrapped tightly around his son’s shoulders like a cheetah protecting its cub. “Let’s go.”

“Keiji,” Bokuto called desperately, quickly taking steps towards them as they began walking away. “Keiji, wait! I want to t—”

Akaashi whipped back around when Koutarou got within one step of them, long finger pointing aggressively at him—his face was now hateful, angry, hurt all in one expression.

“Do _not_ call me that.” Akaashi’s voice was filled with so much venom it was a wonder Bokuto hadn’t died on-sight. “You lost the right to call me that seven years ago.”

“ _I_ _know_ ,” Bokuto stressed, tried to stress so hard he hoped Akaashi could feel his agony. “I _know_ , Akaashi, but—”

“I’m sorry Tetsurou tried to cheat you. Goodbye.”

Keiji and his son hurried away hand-in-hand, getting as far as the courtyard’s edge before Bokuto’s instincts kicked in, sensing a situation that could result in a loss. Koutarou couldn’t afford to lose anything else, especially not a second chance. Not that Akaashi had said that in so many words, but still—Bokuto had been reenergized, electrified being that close to Keiji after so many lonely years apart. One of his best assets (and also greatest flaws) was his inability to give up, and sometimes it got him into a bit of trouble.

Before Akaashi and Tetsurou could get out of sight, Bokuto began following them.

Bokuto used his abilities as an ex-hitman to follow Akaashi through the city of Tokyo, down the street towards a bus station, hopping on with them and blending in effortlessly like he had been taught. Akaashi and Tetsurou were sitting together near the front, oblivious to Bokuto’s presence—the little boy was babbling about something, and although his mother nodded, Koutarou knew he wasn’t listening. His eyes were staring off into the distance, mindlessly, numb to everything around them; despite that, Bokuto knew Akaashi was thinking deeply. No, not thinking— _remembering_. There was a certain dose of pain, the way Keiji’s lips were held tightly shut…sometimes he did that when he was close to crying. His eyebrows were trying to be their usual straight, intimidating yet pretty arch, but they too were having difficulty staying that way.

Of course, what Bokuto was doing now was definitely a violation of his promise to Keiji all those years before, but to be fair, these were more of stalking skills than hitman skills. Yes, typically the stalking resulting in murder, and yes, this was what Bokuto did to get to know his victims, but he was being a bit lenient towards himself on account of being shell-shocked by Akaashi’s sudden reappearance in his life. His original plan was to wait a few more years until he was had a respectable job, a big house for them to live in, and, most importantly, proof that he hadn’t murdered that man seven-years ago. Fate wasn’t much for waiting around, it seemed, and now, Bokuto was creeping through the shadows of Tokyo following after the love of his life and his young son.

 _Man, the things I wouldn’t do to change that expression back in the day_ , Koutarou shook his head, having to look away for a minute. _It’s too painful, being this close to him so suddenly. What the hell am I doing, anyway? I can’t follow them home, that’s insane!_

Despite his reasoning, Bokuto peeked back over at Akaashi, who had now lowered his head some, as if he were trying to control his emotions. Tetsurou was oblivious, talking up a storm in a loud enough voice where everyone on the bus probably heard him.

“…And Kenma doesn’t even _like_ fish, even though he’s basically a cat,” Tetsurou explained, swinging his legs that weren’t too far off touching the bottom of the bus. “Do you think he’s allergic or something?”

Keiji didn’t respond, staring into oblivion. His son glanced over and waved his hand in front of Akaashi’s face wildly.

“Hellooooo! Earth to Mom!”

“Sorry.” Akaashi glanced back up, swallowing whatever emotion had bubbled up and shot his son a fake smile Bokuto had never seen before. “What about Kenma-chan?”

“Do you think he’s allergic to fish, or do some cats not like fish?”

“I’m not sure, sweetheart. Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“I will,” Tetsurou nodded certainly. “If he’s allergic, that’s cool, but if he’s not, I’m going to go back to Yukie’s fish stand and buy him some mackerel.”

“Are you going to actually _buy_ it this time?” His mother teased. Tetsurou’s cheeks burned red and he nodded shortly, mumbling an assurance under his breath. “Good boy.”

Keiji put an arm around his son and pulled him a little closer, planting a light kiss to his messy hair. It was cute and agonizing at the same time to Bokuto—cute because it was Akaashi and an equally adorable child, and agonizing because if fate hadn’t fucked them over, it could’ve been _their_ child.

“I am a good kid, aren’t I, Mommy?” Tetsurou agreed.

“You are,” Akaashi smiled, a real one this time. “You just have a _mischievous_ side.”

Tetsurou’s mother grabbed his nose gently, wiggling it and earning a laugh in response; everyone else on the bus was too tired to appreciate the scene, but Bokuto continued watching with hawk-like vision from the back crowd. The first stop was almost near.

“The fish-fryer man said I’m confident because I was taught to be independent; he also said I must have a good home life, because he could tell someone tried to comb my hair this morning.”

“…I did try to press it down a bit.” Akaashi visibly hesitated to join in on this touchy topic, playing with his son’s hair as a distraction. “You get that from me, unfortunately; do you know how much hairspray it takes to make my hair look good for the shows?”

“A lot,” Tetsurou agreed. But he wasn’t letting the topic go so easily. “Mom, did you know that guy?”

Bokuto adjusted his stance behind several other passengers so he could read Keiji’s expression better; a flash of emotion went through his eyes, and for a long minute, he didn’t respond. Tetsu looked like he was about to drop it when his mother spoke.

“I did,” Akaashi nodded stiffly. That was all he wanted to say, but upon getting an answer Tetsurou pressed for more information.

“Where did you know him from?”

“Hmm…we knew each other when I was seventeen. Remember when I told you about how I worked at the Leclair Boutique on 72nd Street?”

“Yeah.”

“I met him there. He was one of my customers.”

Tetsurou pondered this for a moment, looking up at his mother to try and decode his current expression and the strange tone of his voice.

“You didn’t sound very happy to see him again,” The boy pointed out. “How come? Was he mean to you? Was he a rude customer who came in last minute?”

Every other sleepy citizen riding the bus jolted when it came to a stop, but Bokuto remained stiffly standing in the corner, watching and listening intently as Akaashi took Tetsurou’s hand and walked them to the exit.

“It doesn’t matter, now,” Keiji said quietly. “It was a long time ago.”

Bokuto was familiar with the sensation of his heart falling to his stomach, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less the hundredth time. After Akaashi, his son and a few other passengers got off the bus, Koutarou snuck out the opposite exit, skillfully hiding behind the bus’s shadow until it drove off; they were in a different part of town, a densely packed but noticeably more high-class than the one Bokuto lived near. Akaashi and Tetsu were walking down the sidewalk hand-in-hand, unaware that an ex-hitman was sneaking around behind bushes and other houses hardly fifty-yards behind them. Bokuto didn’t make any noise, hardly took a breath the entire time he followed the pair, stopping when he saw Akaashi turn them towards a fenced-in yard with a sleek black Lexus GS parked on the street in front of it.

 _This place seems familiar_ , Bokuto thought to himself, ducking behind a different car and peering over the top so he could make sure Tetsurou and his mother got inside safely. _I don’t think I’ve ever been here before, though…but why does it seem like I know this pl—_

_Oh._

Bokuto had never seen this house in person before. He had seen it online, however, on a real estate website he and Akaashi once looked at when they were planning on moving in together. It was a beautiful white home with a rooftop garden, a contemporary design with white furniture, high ceilings, a balcony, two sitting rooms and it was located a few blocks from two parks and a convenience store. Akaashi had said that was important for him because whenever Bokuto wasn’t around, he had nothing to eat (despite his many, many talents, Keiji was a terrible cook). It was also just outside of Fukurodani territory, six blocks from the boutique where Akaashi worked as a teen, where he met Koutarou—to think, Akaashi had bought this house after they broke-up, the house they were supposed to buy _together_ , to live in and raise their children there…a new kind of hurt filled Bokuto’s chest, though he knew no one was to blame except himself.

Akaashi already had a family, it seemed, and Koutarou was no longer a part of it.

Tetsurou was babbling about something again as they entered the front door; Bokuto stared at Akaashi, memorized his new face as he glanced around the block, making sure there was no danger before stepping inside and shutting the door behind them.

Bokuto didn’t go home for a long time. He was frozen in place, mind racing as he stared at the house, then the nice car, then the house again, wondering what was going on inside, if Akaashi’s husband was home, if that was his car or Keiji’s, maybe a present from his husband, what his husband did for a living, and did he love Akaashi as much as Koutarou did? Not possible. Bokuto sat in a bush and thought about theories until the last light in the house went out for the night, at which point Koutarou turned himself around and began the long walk back to his apartment.

 _I can’t fucking believe this. How did things get so messed up?_ Bokuto wondered in frustration, shaking his head. _Akaashi’s living in the house WE picked out with some other dude? I mean, I know he’s spiteful, but is he really THAT spiteful? Yeah, it’s super sexy, but how mean! Just because I supposedly murdered someone seven years ago?_

 _To be fair, you killed a lot of people before that_ , a voice reminded him. _You lied about that throughout your entire relationship._

_…Yeah. I don’t need to be reminded of how badly I fucked up._

Bokuto stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. A nagging question kept itching at the back of his mind, the sensible part of him demanding to know why he was doing this to himself again. Hadn’t he done enough wallowing and blaming in prison for seven-years? Why when he finally got out was he still trying to come up with ways to change everything? The damage had been done. Instinct was telling him to get over it, but for a long time, now, Bokuto’s feelings had been causing his hitman instincts to stray from the beaten path. That time was gone. Bokuto didn’t have to worry about those skills anymore. He was a fish fryer, a regular citizen trying to get by, a lower-middle class blue-collar guy who was starting over. Why was Bokuto still obsessed over trying to fix the past?

“Because I love him,” Koutarou whispered to himself. “I can’t let go, because…I still love him just as much as before.”

 _I made the wrong choice then. Fuck, I made a wrong choice the day I met Akaashi and told him I was attending business school_ , the ex-hitman shook his head angrily. _But I’m making a different choice, now. A better choice, a choice of change._

Bokuto Koutarou the fish fryer took out his cell phone and dialed a number; they didn’t pick-up until nearly the last ring, it being well past eleven at night.

“Yukie,” Bokuto said. “I need to speak to Komi.”

~~*~~

The next morning, Bokuto was waiting outside the fish cart for someone he had grown-up with, had entered the yakuza with, but hadn’t spoken to in over seven years since “the incident.” Komi Haruki was still in the Fukurodani clan, as far as Koutarou knew, and Yukie said it had taken some convincing, but he would be here in a few minutes. Their history was probably the only reason Komi agreed to come in the first place, if not because Yukie begged him to. Honestly, Bokuto wasn’t expecting much—maybe a short greeting, cold words, most likely a refusal, but it was worth a shot. Koutarou’s old informant was long gone, run off to China somewhere, so this was all he had right now.

A minute to twelve, Komi came around the corner of the courtyard, dressed in his deep navy suit, silver tie and black shoes, a yakuza if Bokuto ever saw one. He hadn’t grown at all, but he looked stronger, more experienced in his role, and his aura was calmer, cooler. Bokuto couldn’t help the grin that came to his lips when Komi spotted him and stiffly walked over.

“Hey, Komi,” Koutarou greeted cheerfully. “You’re looking sharp—married life suits you.”

“Not married yet,” Komi reminded him, flashing his engagement ring. His eyes lingered on Bokuto for a long minute before he blinked hard, glancing away. “We better hurry. I can kiss my balls goodbye if anyone catches me talking to you. What do you want?”

Right. Sometimes Bokuto forgot the clan thought he was guilty and still hated his guts. He was more preoccupied with Akaashi hating him than anything else.

“I just need your information guy’s number,” Bokuto clarified, gazing off into the distance. No one was watching them, that he could tell. “That’s all.”

“You could’ve just told Yukie that. Saved us this little…whatever this is.”

“Come on, Komi, I know you missed me!” His old friend teased, nudging Haruki’s elbow playfully. Hazel eyes lightly glared at him, but there was a spark of friendliness inside them. They didn’t spend ten years growing up together for nothing. “Besides, I know you’re the one who agreed to let Yukie hire me. She may be your fiancé, but I know you’ve always had the hots for me.”

“Shut up,” Komi rolled his eyes. “I thought prison would change you, but you’re still the same doofus you always were.”

Both men laughed under their breath, distracted by the current image of the other—seven years before, Bokuto had been the stylish one, Komi not yet far up enough in the ranks to buy such expensive suits. He was there on the day Koutarou met Akaashi, however, which is probably why it hurt so much for Haruki to look at his best friend now. Things were so _different_ then…at one time, Komi thought Akaashi and Bokuto would get married, and that one day he might be the most famous hitman in all of Asia, bold enough to get the attention of every yakuza or Triad leader. Today, Bokuto was wearing baggy jeans, work boots and a plain white t-shirt. He hadn’t shaved this morning, but his stupid hair was the same as always, as were his toned biceps, powerful thighs and athletic torso.

Bokuto knew he was being checked out, but it didn’t bother him because he was doing the same thing to Komi. When they were kids, Komi didn’t give a damn about fashion; whatever he could afford that fit him was good enough, and now he was wearing a suit worth around eight-hundred thousand yen. He was still a shorty, though. Good to know one thing hadn’t changed over the years.

“Listen, Komi—I know the clan doesn’t want anyone talking to me. I know you could get in serious high water for helping me out, but we’ve been friends since we were street brats, remember?” Bokuto reminded him. “Besides…you and I both know someone in the clan set me up. I don’t take betrayals lightly, but I’m holding out on getting revenge because I want the life I promised Akaashi.”

The mention of Akaashi Keiji caught Komi’s special attention; his eyes widened a bit, surprised to hear that name flow from Bokuto’s lips after all these years. He was still hung-up on a teen romance even after spending seven-years in prison? It was as impressive as it was pathetic.

“You and I also both know the clan wouldn’t stand a chance against me if I really wanted to find out who fucked me over. Catch my drift, Komi-kun?”

“…Yeah, I get it,” Haruki exhaled. “You’re still trying to win Akaashi back? After all this time?”

“Um, _duh_ ,” Koutarou rolled his eyes. “Don’t you remember how head-over-heels I was for him?”

“Well, yeah, but in case you’ve forgotten, you lied to him about being a hitman and also got put away for murder after you specifically told him you weren’t involved in anything dangerous.”

Komi watched the stinging pain go through Bokuto’s golden eyes and felt a little bad. He didn’t like hurting his best friend, but a lot had happened in seven-years. Komi still had doubts about whether or not Bokuto actually committed the murder—besides…the likelihood of Akaashi forgiving Bokuto was slim to none. He had a kid now, plus he was famous around the world; he had so much going for him. But…Komi also knew how deeply Keiji loved Bokuto, how much he probably _still_ loved him despite everything.

_Maybe that’s why this is so painful…_

“You don’t have to remind me, Komi. Trust me,” Bokuto laughed without humor. “I remember the mistakes I made every minute of every day. That’s why I’m starting over—I’m going to make things right, live life the right way. And I’m going to win Akaashi back if it kills me. So? Are you going to help me get my fairytale ending or not?”

Haruki sighed again, then glanced around before taking a slip of paper out of his pocket and scribbling out a number. He handed it over to Koutarou and sighed once more.

“His name’s Kenji. Call him, tell him what you want and he’ll have some documents delivered to your door.”

“Thanks, Komi!” Bokuto grinned, accepting the paper. “And congratulations, by the way! Who would’ve thought Yukie would ever say yes this time?”

“Hey, I only had to ask four times!”

“Sure, sure. You’re not counting the two times you asked her out on dates when we were twenty?”

“No,” Komi hissed. His expression softened, suddenly, and he became serious. “And…I’m sorry, Bo.”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Koutarou pretended to think. “Sorry for not standing up for me, sorry for not visiting me, or sorry for letting me take the fall?”

Bokuto knew it wasn’t Komi’s fault. It wasn’t either of their faults that life had driven them apart, broken their oath brother bond without as much as a goodbye. Haruki’s pained eyes told Bokuto it hurt him just as much.

“For all of the above,” He confessed in a sigh. “And…I’m sorry you can’t come to our wedding.”

“Yeah…we would’ve had a hell of a time, huh?” Koutarou gave a sad little smile. “Oh well. I’ll send you the _best_ present, so watch out!”

“I’ll make sure we have metal detectors when we open the gifts,” Komi almost laughed. “I gotta get going.”

“Right, right. Lots of responsibility and shit.”

“Yeah. But…it’s great to see you again, Ko.”

He held his hand out to shake, and after Bokuto fought down his urge to hug his best friend, he accepted.

“Yeah,” He agreed. “Good to see you, Komi-chan.”

Bokuto did call Kenji, and by the next evening, there was a packet sitting by his apartment door. He hurriedly stepped inside and opened it, amazed at how many pages of information there was; Bokuto knew all the basic information, so he skipped those pages and went right to the most recent events in Akaashi’s life. There was a beautiful picture of him dancing on stage with another dancer, decorated in sparkling makeup, a golden lace tutu and elegant gloves to match.

“Prima ballerina Akaashi Keiji…what?!” Bokuto nearly shouted, hurriedly scanning through the rest of the article. “Akaashi-san has been the lead attraction for Sana’s Ballet for the past four years and has become one of the most popular and well-known ballerinas in the world. He has portrayed and captivated the dance world playing the titular characters in Swan Lake, The Nutcracker, Giselle, La Bayadére and many others…he has even been a guest ballerina in the French ballet scene and is known for his collaborations with Russian photographer Lev Haiba. He is currently performing in Tokyo as the role of Odette in _Swan Lake_ , taking time off from touring to spend time at home with his young son.”

Koutarou needed a minute to let that sink in, staring at the paper without really reading anymore.

“That little shit…I told him he’d be famous someday,” Bokuto murmured to himself, sifting through the papers. “What else, what else…”

There were insurance quotes, proof of Akaashi purchasing his expensive house, his nice ass car, his contract with Sana’s Ballet, some photographs he took with Lev Haiba, but Bokuto couldn’t find a marriage license anywhere. There was nothing that under another person’s name, no co-signers, no one sharing the mortgage or taking the car to change the oil. _Maybe they never got married_ , Bokuto theorized, frowning as he scanned pages and pages of information. _Ha. He still eats a lot of takeout. And still shops at Leclair’s Boutique. There are a lot of people who post pictures with him on social media, but he only has a handful of pictures on his own account…just him and Tetsurou._

_But who’s Tetsurou’s father?_

Thinking Akaashi’s live-in-boyfriend or secret husband’s name would be on Tetsu’s birth certificate, Koutarou went to the back of the folder and found a copy of the document; but finding it only stirred up more questions than answers.

**AKAASHI KUROO TETSUROU**

**Born to AKAASHI KEIJI and ___________**

**On November 17 th, 2013 at 2:55 a.m.**

**Weight: 7 lbs. 3 ounces**

**Length: 23 inches**

**At East Tokyo Hospital in Tokyo Prefecture, Japan**

Bokuto leaned back against his chair quietly, staring a hole through the certificate. After all this time, he thought he would have been the only one to change—but Akaashi had purposely left every detail concerning the identity of Tetsurou’s father out of official documents, and to what purpose? To keep Bokuto away from him? To make sure Bokuto wouldn’t kill him when he got out of prison? Koutarou swore Keiji had more faith in him than that. They dated for four years! Sure, Bokuto lied about his job and whether or not he was involved in anything dangerous and did go to prison for a false murder charge…

_But then, why does it feel like Akaashi has more to hide?_

The ex-hitman didn’t have an answer for that. He glanced through the rest of the papers, relieved to find out that Akaashi still couldn’t cook, still enjoyed pale yellow roses and was subscribed to every movie provider that had the _Step Up_ movies on it. Judging on his credit card records, Keiji hadn’t forced Tetsurou into entering any dance programs, but had sent him to a “Business for Tykes” camp for one week in March. That was so like Akaashi, trying to give his son a head-start in life by refining the boy’s knack for making (or cheating) money. Bokuto was relieved to know that Tetsurou didn’t attend school in the Fukurodani region—in fact, he currently attended Nekoma’s Advanced Grade School Academy: basically a test-in grade school for child prodigies that had an acceptance rate of 13%.

“The kid’s an evil genius or something...”

On the final page, Kenji had circled Akaashi’s home phone number as well as his cell phone number. That was the usual creepy but incredible work done by informants, but what was stored in a separate envelope disturbed Bokuto far beyond his usual distrust of informants—dumping out the envelope’s contents, over a hundred copied photographs fell out. And they were all of Akaashi and Tetsurou.

“What the fuck?” Bokuto said out-loud, slowly scanning over the badly copied pictures. It was one thing to have a normal picture someone took on the street for reference, but these were something else entirely. The detail, the zoom and the scenery were that of someone who was _stalking_ Akaashi and Tetsurou. “Akaashi in his bedroom…at the ballet studio, in his car—is that him at the boutique? And, that’s…”

There were over a dozen pictures of little Tetsurou getting picked up from school, him sitting in class, him playing outside with his friends: these were not pictures an informant took. Someone had hired a professional to watch Akaashi and Tetsurou, to intrude on their lives, to figure out their routine. Informants didn’t do that unless…

 _Chill the fuck out, Bokuto_ , the fish fryer chided himself, shaking his head and shoving the pictures away. _Akaashi’s a celebrity. It’s probably just paparazzi pictures! Those little freaks don’t understand personal boundaries. Yeah, that’s it. Kenji probably just got these off magazine articles or something._

Despite Koutarou’s thoughts, there was a strong doubt itching the back of his head, and that was when he decided it was time to confront his ex.

~~*~~

“Tetsu, are you ready?”

“Almost, Mom!”

“I have your bento ready to go, so let’s get your jacket on and head out.”

Tetsurou came hustling out of his bedroom with one shoe on and one shoe off, hopping around on one leg trying to get the other on; after almost bashing his head into the kitchen island he succeeded, and Akaashi swooped down to help him tie them quickly.

“Okay, we’ve got our shoes on, tie’s on, and here’s your jacket,” Keiji said, holding out his son’s spring coat.

“Mom, when are you going to buy me a Prada jacket?” Tetsurou asked, sliding his arms inside.

“Never.”

“What?!”

“Why do you need a Prada jacket?” Akaashi rolled his eyes, nudging his son towards the front door and snatching his keys.

“Um, because then I can sell it for profit, _duh_.”

“You’re so evil sometimes, Tetsu…”

“Wonder where I get _that_ from?” His son grinned up at him.

Keiji flicked his ear and grabbed his own bag, making sure he had his ballet slippers, tights and…something else was missing, and Akaashi looked around for a solid thirty-seconds in confusion before Tetsurou realized he had two bento boxes in his bag and gave one up. They hadn’t had a morning rushed like this in a long time, and although Keiji knew why, he ignored that reason and blamed it on the _America’s Next Top Model_ marathon he watched until one in the morning.

“Car keys, bento, jacket…okay, that’s everything. Come on, Tetsurou.”

“But Mom, what about my hair?!” Tetsu whined, pulling at his black strands. “It’s a mess again!”

Akaashi gave a quick sigh. This was always the biggest battle they faced getting ready for school. Keiji was content with his own messy hair, but Tetsurou’s was longer and thinner, which meant whichever way he slept on it, the hair was going to stay that way unless some serious combing was attempted. Akaashi grabbed a nearby comb and some hair gel from his own bag, lathering Tetsu’s locks up before whipping the comb through it, trying to at least sweep the bangs to one side. After three-minutes of stroking and fluffing, Keiji stepped back and looked his work over.

“…That doesn’t look so bad,” He lied. Tetsurou’s head looked like it had shrunk two-sizes, the back was still sticking straight up, and the front bangs were already slipping onto his forehead.

“Ugh!”

“It looks fine, Tetsurou,” Akaashi chuckled softly, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. The boy immediately toyed with his hair again, letting its natural messy look reign for today. “Let’s get going, so we don’t hit traffic on the way.”

The pair finally got into the car and took off towards the Nekoma district, where they had to pick up Tetsu’s school friend along the way. Traffic was light, and Tetsurou was singing some Korean pop song he knew, making it easy for Akaashi’s thoughts to drift away into a daydream. As hard as Keiji tried, he couldn’t keep his thoughts away from his ex-boyfriend—running into him the other night had to have been some horrible trick of fate. For seven years, Akaashi had been on his own with Tetsu, and he was happy to live the rest of his life that way. He hadn’t expected to see Bokuto ever again, much less, run into him at ten at night because his son stole a mackerel pike.

 _What are the chances of him just showing up like that, after seven years of being locked up?_ Akaashi wondered, shaking his head in disapproval. _What are the chances of him meeting Tetsu before running into me? That’s absurd. I knew I should have bought Kaori a leash when she babysits…what’s he doing working as a fish fryer, anyway? Doesn’t getting charged for murder make you more popular on the streets?_

Akaashi didn’t like thinking about the past, but lately it seemed he couldn’t ignore the ache coursing through his chest whenever something reminded him of his life seven-years earlier. Not that he had entirely erased his past…he still talked to Yukie, still shopped at Leclair and met with some of his old street dancer buddies for coffee in Fukurodani once a month. It was easy to be distracted with the present, then, but Akaashi didn’t make a habit of going places where he and Bokuto used to have dates.

“Hey, Mom?”

 _…I wonder how he fared in prison_ , Keiji wondered, biting his lip. _He didn’t seem to have any scars. I hope he didn’t get into too many fights, that dumb owl bastard—does he still like owls, anyway? Probably not. But what do I care?_

“Mom.”

Akaashi could faintly hear someone calling him, but on the other side of this row of tall buildings was Fukurodani, and Keiji remembered when Bokuto gave him a piggyback ride after he danced and drank a bit too much at a street event…

“Mom!”

“Hm? Did you forget something at the house?”

Tetsurou opened his mouth, but closed it and glanced around just to make sure he had everything.

“No. I was just going to tell you, you missed Kenma’s house.”

“Shit,” Keiji mumbled under his breath, hurriedly whipping into the right turn lane. “Sorry.”

“I’ll let it slide this time,” Tetsu joked. “But just remember that distracted driving is what causes over fifty-thousand car accidents a year.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

Kenma Kozume, Tetsurou’s best friend from school was waiting outside his house on the steps when they pulled up. He slid his video game away and hurried to the car, sliding in beside Tetsu and giving them a quiet greeting. There were no more missed turns or distracted driving, and Akaashi pulled up to their school right on time, helping the boys out of the car and making sure they had everything.

“Bye Kenma-chan. Have a good day.”

The boy nodded behind his long dark hair, whispering a goodbye and waiting beside the car as Tetsurou gathered his things; he messed with his hair in the car reflection one last time before turning to his mom and letting her give him a once-over. He had his mother’s narrowed, lidded eyes, the only difference being the wildly contrasting color—sharp gold, like a tabby cat, full of mischief, confidence and curiosity that collided with Keiji’s deep blue, calm, collected, mystical ones. It was a miracle Tetsu had yet to ever ask about his father.

“Be a good boy and learn lots, okay?” Akaashi said warmly, running a hand through Tetsurou’s hair one last time.

“I will! Well, about the last part, anyway.”

Keiji shook his head and leaned down, laying a sweet kiss onto Tetsurou’s soft forehead. It was the only thing that could deter the boy’s playfulness.

“I love you, Tetsu.”

“Love you too, Mommy,” The boy gave a small smile. “I gotta go—Ken-chan is waiting for me.”

“Alright. I’ll come pick you up around six, okay?”

“Okay.”

Keiji watched Tetsu take Kenma’s hand and lead him towards the school doors just as the first bell rang. Sometimes he wished he had more children, but Tetsurou was a handful—maybe if the kid was more like Kenma. More like Akaashi, less like the father figure. Yeah. That would be nice, one day…

Thankfully Akaashi was able to snap himself out of his funk by the time ballet practice began, because he had tried dancing while his head was in the clouds, and it almost always resulted in an injury. By early afternoon he was more focused, stretching during their break and having a drink, but he didn’t sit with his usual friends; instead, he chose to sit alone in the left corner of the stage, where he was suddenly cornered by his irritatingly talented dance partner, Suguru Daishou.

“Are you feeling okay, Akaashi-kun?”

Akaashi glanced up at the dancer, hating how Suguru was the only one observant enough to notice his strange mood. Suguru had started this company the same year as Keiji, and although they had butted heads right away, Akaashi had learned to live with Daishou’s love of stardom, and Suguru had learned the hard way that Keiji was never going to date him, and so finally stopped flirting with him. Mostly. Today he was frowning, and he only frowned when his senses told him something or someone was in danger of ruining the show.

“I’m fine, Suguru-kun. Why do you ask?”

“Hmm…you look distracted,” Suguru hummed suspiciously, walking a circle around his partner. “You were dazed when you came in, your dancing was flawless, as usual, but as far as your acting goes, it seemed… _distant_.”

“It’s difficult for me to pretend I’m in love with you when you’re not in costume,” Keiji retorted, standing up to stretch his arms.

“Rude. I look like a swan all the time, thank you very much.”

“Suguru-san, Akaashi-san, the director says we’re going again,” Another ballerina interrupted, motioning them to the stage. Suguru followed after his partner, not letting the topic go—he expected answers when he pried into other people’s business. Tetsurou called him the Heir of Slytherin behind his back and often tried to trick him into speaking Parseltongue.

“You wanna talk about him?” Daishou prompted.

“What?”

“It’s so _obviously_ about someone you’re dating. You can’t slip that past me, Akaashi.”

“Oh right, I forgot you’ve dated every prima ballerina in Europe.”

Suguru glared at him and stuck his tongue out like a child, nearly bumping into another group of dancers along the way.

“Let’s take it from the very top!” The director hollered.

“I’m not dating him,” Akaashi clarified stiffly. Suguru looked over at him with a cocked eyebrow as they took their positions. “And I won’t date him ever again.”

~~*~~

Aside from Suguru’s annoying, prying conversation, Akaashi’s day went well, and he was in a better mood by the time he picked Tetsu up from Kenma’s house. They bought some Indian food along the way (although Keiji promised to try and cook something later in the week) and hurried inside to eat; Tetsurou told his mom all about his day, from the game they played during recess to the peeing contest he and Kenma had in the bathroom.

“I’m sorry, did you say… _peeing_ contest?”

“Yeah, Mom. Keep up!”

“Okay, I’ll bite—why did you have a peeing contest, Tetsurou?” Akaashi laughed as he grabbed two plates for their food.

“Cuz I told Kenma I could pee faster than him, but then he started to pee faster in the next stall over, so then I started to pee faster, because we had the same amount of pee in us, and even though I pushed _really_ hard, we still tied!”

“Forget I asked.”

“How was your day, Mommy?” Tetsurou asked, eyes widening with hunger as he watched Keiji open the takeout boxes. “Did you have to dance with snake boy again?”

“Yes, I danced with snake boy again. But his leotard ripped as we were practicing the second act, so that was pretty funny.”

“Haha! Classic. Can I have a lot of the chicken Tikka Masala, please? It’s my favorite.”

“Since you asked so nicely.”

Their dinner was interrupted by the doorbell ringing, making Akaashi raise an eyebrow. As far as he knew, they weren’t expecting any visitors.

“I’ll get it!” Tetsurou said, hopping off his seat.

“Make sure you look through the peephole before you open the door,” His mother reminded him, dishing the food out onto plates.

“Yup!”

Tetsu paddled away to the door, pulling up his stool to peek through the peephole. Akaashi heard him give a small gasp, followed by him hurriedly pushing the stool aside.

“Mom, it’s that one guy!”

“What guy?”

The fork in Akaashi’s hand slid from his grip when his son spoke again, colliding with the table and hitting the floor.

“It’s fish fryer-san!”


	2. "the day i left you"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have fun with these monstrous chapters. ha.

_“Even on the day I left you_

_I made you cry with cruel words_

_But I regretted it as soon as I turned around,_

_I’m sorry”_

Akaashi didn’t blink for a solid minute, head empty and heart pounding, body unable to react as he would have liked. Bokuto was _here_ , at their house—he had the audacity to ring their doorbell and expect to be welcomed inside? Was he clinically insane? What on earth could possess him to think that he would ever be allowed near Tetsurou? Keiji’s disbelief lasted for another long minute as his son chatted with Bokuto in the doorway, oblivious to the negative energy seething from the kitchen.

“Hey hey hey, Tetsurou! What’s up, my man?”

“My mom and I are having supper!” The boy answered just as cheerfully. “Wow—you clean up nice.”

“Thanks,” Koutarou grinned, glancing down at his white button up shirt, black dress pants and brand new black dress shoes; he may have went a little bit overboard, but he really wanted to look good for his ex. “Like my shoes? I had them shined today.”

“Wicked! Are those Salvatore Ferragamo’s? I know that because mommy gets a lot of magazines, and I read them when he’s done,” Tetsu explained all while admiring his reflection in Bokuto’s shoes. “I’m a bit of a fashionista myself, but mom won’t buy me a Prada coat.”

Movement from behind Tetsurou caught Koutarou’s attention; Akaashi had stepped into the entrance hallway, arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed angrily as he stared at Bokuto territorially. He said nothing, though, and an uncomfortable silence ensued. Tetsu looked back and forth between the two adults, wondering why his mother hadn’t invited Bokuto inside yet—he even let his snakeish partner come inside once in a while, so why couldn’t Bokuto?

“Hi,” The fish fryer greeted weakly.

_Dumbass! That’s the best you can do?_

“What are you doing here, Bokuto?” Akaashi asked dangerously. He seemed to daring his ex to answer that question, and Bokuto couldn’t help but gulp. Keiji was scary when he was mad, but now that he had a 37,000 yen blouse on, he seemed even scarier. Plus, he had somehow gotten even hotter over the past seven years, and his spell over Bokuto had grown even stronger. Meanwhile, Akaashi was anxious over Koutarou’s new outfit, a drastic change from his fish fryer costume; this was how he dressed when they met, when he was apparently working as a murderer for the Fukurodani yakuza group, the type of clothing he wore when he was arrested…the clothing Akaashi loved dressing him in when he worked at Leclair.

_No. Don’t think about that right now._

“Well…I was hoping we could chat. Shoot the breeze, get reacquainted,” Koutarou continued, mouth getting drier by the second. “Don’t you think it would be nice to talk after all these years?”

“Not particularly,” Keiji answered, advancing forward to put a hand on the door. “I have nothing to say to you, and I doubt there’s anything you could say to me that I would find fascinating.”

Bokuto was beginning to notice how protective Akaashi was of his only child, making sure he was standing between Tetsurou and the stranger in the doorway, just like he had held him close at the fish cart the other night. It was one thing to stand beside him, or tell Tetsu to back away, but Akaashi kept making deliberate attempts to ensure Bokuto was unable to reach out and touch his son. Koutarou noticed this because he was trained to notice behaviors, what his targets loved more than anything as a means of using it against them—but since that wasn’t the goal now, Bokuto could see the scene a lot more clearly, and it bothered him.

“You keep blocking me from Tetsurou every time we meet,” The ex-hitman noted in a lower voice so the child couldn’t hear. “It’d be one thing if he was talking to strangers, but because it’s me you’re taking extra precautions.”

Akaashi seemed taken aback by this accusation, lips pressing together tightly.

“Why? Do you…you think I would _hurt_ him?” Bokuto asked, pain obvious in his tone. “You think I would hurt an innocent child?”

“I don’t know what you’d do,” Keiji confessed in almost a hiss. “But I’m not that eager to find out. Now, if you have nothing else to say, we’re going to get back to our dinner. Goodnight.”

“But Mom!” Tetsurou interrupted, stopping his mother from closing the door. “Bokuto-san’s probably hungry! We have to invite him in!”

“We didn’t invite him _here_ , Tetsu,” His mother reminded him. Akaashi’s anxiety was clearly at its limits, and for a minute Bokuto felt bad, but they had to get this first conversation over with. Apparently, Tetsu agreed, because he let go of his mother’s arm to cross his own over his chest and stomp his foot loudly, throwing a displeased, bratty expression up at Keiji. Koutarou had seen that expression before (when Akaashi didn’t get his three o’clock snack) and felt a bit of satisfaction.

“How come you get to invite _vampires_ inside, but I never get to let _any_ of my normal friends in?!” Tetsurou shouted accusingly.

“Vampires?” Bokuto wondered out-loud.

“Mommy _always_ lets a vampire named Suguru inside our house, but she never lets me invite _my_ friends inside for dinner! I’m living under a _dictatorship_!”

“Tetsu, that’s enough,” Akaashi scolded, going to close the door.

“No! It’s not fair!”

The six-year-old suddenly bolted out from behind his mother’s legs, squirming his way outside where he latched onto Bokuto’s leg.

“I’m not going inside unless Bokuto-san is, too!” Tetsu declared.

Koutarou and Akaashi looked over at each other, gold meeting blue in a silent battle; Bokuto wanted to tell Keiji that he came in peace, but he figured the easiest way to get inside their home was through Tetsurou’s tantrum. Akaashi didn’t look as mad as he wanted to, torn between his son’s demands and his undying heartbreak over Bokuto’s betrayal—it wasn’t so much that he hated Koutarou. In fact, he didn’t hate him at all. It was just…too _nostalgic_. Keiji could barely look the ex-conman in the eyes without bursting into tears, remembering all their sweet memories, the endless laughs they shared, their crazy impromptu dates, the food fights, the shopping sprees, the soft kisses Bokuto would lay against his head when he thought he was sleeping…

Tetsurou and Koutarou were still staring at him, waiting for an answer.

_Say no, say no, say no!_

“…Fine,” Keiji mumbled, breaking their eye-contact. “He can stay for dinner, but that’s all.”

“Yes!” Tetsu cheered, fist pumping the air in front of him. “Child manipulation at its finest!”

Bokuto chuckled and began following the boy inside, but he was stopped by Akaashi putting a hand on his chest.

“One minute, please.”

The door was slammed in his face, leaving Koutarou on the front steps in the cold evening air as the house’s tenants rummaged around inside.

 _“What’s that, Mom?”_ He could hear Tetsu ask. _“Pepper spray?”_

_“Shh.”_

_“What do we need that for?”_

The door opened again, and this time Akaashi stood to the side and allowed his son to grab Bokuto’s hand and lead him inside. Keiji’s right hand was hiding something behind his back, presumably a bottle of pepper spray.

“Come on, Bokuto-san, you can sit by me!” Tetsurou said excitedly, pulling Koutarou into their kitchen. Everything was very clean, very neat, the product of Akaashi teaching his son to be orderly, a skill he never managed to teach Bokuto when they lived together. “We’re having Indian food tonight; do you know what Indian food is?”

“Food from India?” Koutarou guessed absentmindedly. He quickly scanned the pictures attached to the fridge, not seeing any evidence of a husband or boyfriend. Seriously, what was the deal with this elusive guy?

“Right! You’re smarter than you look.”

“Akaashi-kun, are you going to let your son talk to me like that?!” The fish fryer whined as Keiji came into the room behind them. Akaashi didn’t respond, giving Bokuto a sharp look as he reluctantly pulled out a third plate and set it in front of his ex, choosing to stand at the opposite edge of the island and pick at his own food. “Right…”

 _Never thought I’d ever be calling Keiji “Akaashi-kun,”_ Bokuto thought dejectedly, letting Tetsurou fill his plate with random foods. _This sucks. How am I supposed to get to know him again if he hates me so much? I thought he would at least go a little easy on me, since I’ve been locked away for seven miserable years…doesn’t that give me any advantage?_

“What do you want to know?”

“Huh?”

Akaashi gave him another irritated look, picking at his food without really eating it.

“You said you wanted to chat. What do you want to know?” Keiji repeated. His attitude told Bokuto he wanted this conversation over and done with.

“Oh, right! Well, um…”

“Hey, I’ve got a question!” Tetsurou intervened, raising his hand.

“Shoot.”

“What’s your absolute _favorite_ song? The song you listen to no matter what mood you’re in!”

“Hmm…that’s a tough one,” Koutarou hummed, thinking hard. “You know G-Dragon?”

“Duh—I’m a fashionista, Bokuto-san.”

“I like his song _Untitled 2014_.”

“No way!” Tetsurou shouted in surprise. “That’s mommy’s favorite song, too!”

Akaashi and Bokuto instinctively looked at each other; they always had the same taste in music, and it seemed that hadn’t changed even though Bokuto was imprisoned when that song was released. Komi, Bokuto and Keiji used to go to one of Fukurodani’s clubs that played slow songs for the last hour it was open, and they would always request their favorite Korean songs from K-dramas they loved. Everyone else was annoyed, but that didn’t matter when Bokuto’s arms were wrapped around Akaashi, holding him up against his torso as they spun around and around…

“You don’t say.”

“Yeah, yeah! He listens to it like, every day, and sometimes we dance to it, but I’m not a very good dancer. Mommy is, though—he’s a ballerina!”

“Oh yeah!” Bokuto remembered, turning to face Akaashi, who was now coolly leaning his elbows on the island top. “You’re like, super famous, now! You dance for Sana’s Ballet, right?”

“Yes.”

“Mommy’s the best dancer there, but her partner, the vampire one, says _he’s_ the best,” Tetsu huffed, stabbing at his food with chopsticks.

“Suguru Daishou, right?”

“Yeah. That little slimeball—”

“Eat your supper, Tetsu,” Akaashi ordered gently. At least he was letting Bokuto sit by him without holding the pepper spray to his head.

“So, have you two ever, you know… _dated_?” Bokuto tried to ask casually.

“Who, me and Suguru?”

“Yeah. I figure you guys are together all the time, dancing so close…it must be intense. Lots of tension and stuff.”

“Suguru Daishou is the most unappealing person you will ever meet,” Akaashi laughed. It was nice to hear him laugh again. “I can barely tolerate dancing with him, much less, dating him.”

“Oh.” _Thank God. That guy looked like a piece of work_. “Well, that’s…cool!”

“What about you?” Keiji returned the question. “Are you seeing anyone? One of Yukie’s friends? A fan who sent you letters in prison?”

“Woahhhhh!” Tetsurou said in awe, nearly dropping his chopsticks. “Bokuto-san, you were in _prison_?! Awesome!”

Blush overcame Bokuto’s face as he desperately tried to explain to Tetsu that prison was definitely _not_ awesome, but the boy wouldn’t let it go. He kept asking to get some “inside guys” and asked Koutarou if he had a gang tattoo, because he wanted to get one someday, which his mother was adamantly against. As they ate their supper Bokuto told him prison was not a place he wanted to be in, and that the gangs were mean and smelled bad, and eventually Tetsu took back his statement that he wanted to be in prison one day.

“And to answer your question, ‘Kaashi, no, I’m not seeing anyone,” Bokuto said, hoping to change the subject.

“Mhm.”

Akaashi said no more, almost as if he didn’t believe Koutarou, sipping his tea quietly while still remaining on the other side of the island. He would only look at Bokuto for quick intervals, mostly when the other wasn’t looking; the fish fryer was still surprised that Keiji wasn’t married. He wondered about Tetsu’s father, where he was, what happened to him, but that was a topic he had to build-up to. Once Tetsurou was preoccupied with his dessert, Bokuto asked another question.

“This is a nice house,” Bokuto commented, watching Keiji’s expression carefully. “When did you move in here?”

“About five years ago.”

“Huh. This is a pretty high market area—must have cost you a fortune.”

“Not that my annual wages are any of your business, but yes, it costs me one million yen over the asking price,” Akaashi answered coolly. “Another couple wanted it, so it took some bidding to secure.”

“Wow. You wanted this house so badly you put in a bid for it? You must have really liked it.”

Stern blue eyes looked evenly at Bokuto, seemingly asking if he was really starting this argument. Had Akaashi nearly gotten into a fist fight with a housewife for this house? Yes. Had he swore he would live in this house until he died? Maybe. But that was between him and the house. But, it was also because of Bokuto he found this house in the first place.

“I suppose so,” Keiji answered quietly.

“Where do you live, Bokuto-san?” Tetsu asked through his bite.

“A few blocks from the fish cart. You should come visit me some time, so I can repay the favor.”

“Yeah, that sounds like fun! Mom, can we do that soon?”

“We’re pretty busy,” Akaashi dismissed, grabbing the empty plates and chopsticks. “Our evenings are always full.”

“That’s a maybe,” Tetsurou whispered to Bokuto.

“Nice.”

“Hey, you wanna come see my toy room? I have lots of cool toys, and I design my own clothes in there!”

Bokuto was just about to accept the offer, after all, he could explore the house more and see if there were any family pictures anywhere, but one dark look from Akaashi said it all. He wasn’t welcomed past dinner time, and his ex didn’t seem in the mood to be gracious.

“…That sounds like fun, but I better be going,” Bokuto said reluctantly. “I gotta get up early for work tomorrow.”

Tetsu’s energy died a bit, shoulders slumping and eyes lowering in rejection. It was painful to watch because of Tetsurou’s rare sincerity, and Koutarou wondered how Akaashi ever refused this kid anything.

“Oh,” The boy said in a nod. “Okay. I understand.”

“But next time we can have supper on me, alright? We’ll have grilled mackerel and lots of sodas!”

“Yay!”

“Tetsurou, why don’t you say goodbye and get ready for bed,” Keiji suggested. “Bokuto-san and I will clean up.”

“Alright, alright,” Tetsu surrendered, sliding down from his chair to bow at Koutarou. “Thank you for eating with us, Bokuto-san. Next time we’ll have fish together, okay?”

“You got it, buddy. Thanks for inviting me.”

“No problemo!”

Tetsurou ran off singing some made-up song, disappearing into the house and leaving the grown-ups alone together.

“He’s actually a sweet kid when you get past his conman side,” Bokuto laughed, turning back to face Akaashi, who was looking after his son fondly. “You were always great with kids.”

“…So were you.”

The second Keiji released he was being stared at, he turned around and began placing what looked like an entire weeks-worth of dirty dishes into the sink; before he could get lost in his thoughts, Bokuto rushed up beside him and grabbed the dish towel, immediately grabbing a wet plate and drying it off. They used to tag-team when they lived together because Bokuto hated washing dishes—he shot Keiji a grin when he looked over in surprise.

“You don’t have to help. You can leave.”

“Damn, ‘Kaashi, sounds like you really don’t want me helping out around the house! I guess I could be a trophy husband, but that sounds a little boring.”

Akaashi didn’t laugh at the reference, but since he made no more snide remarks about Bokuto leaving, the fish fryer figured he was okay for a few minutes. The house was silent (aside from Tetsu singing somewhere in the house) as the two washed and dried dishes together, not saying a word and not looking at each other, though both wanted to. Akaashi did his best to sneak peaks at Bokuto’s forearms, revealed from his rolled-up sleeves, wondering if they were tighter and stronger because he had been working out more or just because of Koutarou’s absence. Whatever the reason, Keiji tried to hide the fact that the hair had risen on his own arms from the familiar sight.

“Ask me,” Akaashi said suddenly. He needed a distraction before he really began pining and re-breaking his heart all over again.

“Ask you what?”

“Whatever other questions you want to ask me. I can see you’re burning with curiosity, so just get it over with.”

 _Still so blunt_ , Bokuto thought, lips quirking up as he looked back down at the dishes. _He always was a get-to-the-point kind of guy. I liked that about him…when I was too shy to tell him I loved him, he went ahead and made the first move. Looks like our roles are reversed, now._

“Do you like touring with the ballet, or do you dislike it because it takes you away from Tetsu-chan?”

“I enjoy it, but I miss him when I’m gone,” Akaashi answered simply. “Next.”

“Do you still like going to the opera?”

“Yes.”

“Have you gotten any better at cooking in the past seven years?” Bokuto grinned.

“…No.”

“Do you still talk to our old friends?”

“Sometimes.”

“Who, specifically?”

Akaashi sighed, scrubbing the same dish he had been washing for three-minutes.

“Konoha, Yukie, Yaku, Shibayama and Komi.”

“Komi?” Koutarou repeated in surprise. “You talk to Komi?”

“A few times a year, maybe. Anything else?”

Komi had seemed surprised when Bokuto mentioned Akaashi’s name the other day. Why hadn’t he revealed the fact that he still spoke to Akaashi occasionally? Did he not think that was important information, or did he just want to protect Keiji from Bokuto? Koutarou desperately wanted to ask, but knew that would be pushing his luck.

“…Who’s your best friend?”

“Konoha. He owns Leclair’s Boutique now.”

“Wow. Do you still sleep on your left side holding a pillow?”

“Yes.”

“Why aren’t you married to Tetsurou’s father?”

Keiji nearly dropped the cup he was washing, furrowing his brows and looking over at Bokuto with a taken-aback expression.

“I beg your pardon?” He asked.

“Can’t help noticing these things, Akaashi,” Bokuto shrugged innocently. “There’s no pictures of you two together, you only have one car parked outside, Tetsurou hasn’t mentioned him…so, it begs a burning question: why isn’t a successful, beautiful man like you married?”

“It’s my turn,” Keiji narrowed his eyes, putting a wet hand on his hip as he faced Bokuto. “I’ve got plenty of questions for you, too.”

“Ask me anything. I’ll tell you nothing but the truth.”

“Tch. I’ve heard that before.”

Koutarou set down the dish he was drying and stood face-to-face with Akaashi; his eyebrows lowered seriously, expression losing all traces of humor. Keiji had witnessed that look before, but this one was different, every last line of innocence and hope on Bokuto’s face erased from years of hardship, of watching every inch of his exposed back for many, many long nights. Akaashi’s own dominance was swept under the rug by this display, frightened by the lack of anxiety in the opposing force—Bokuto didn’t break eye-contact, words deliberate and low, as if they had nothing left to lose.

“Ask me anything, Keiji,” He said.

The ballerina forced himself to look away, biting at his lip and going through every question he had conjured in the past seven years; which ones had kept him awake at night the most? Which ones worried him the most? Which ones made him cry, and which ones did he absolutely need an answer for? More importantly, which questions could Keiji ask that wouldn’t give away his lingering feelings for Bokuto?

“…Did anyone visit you in prison?” Akaashi asked stiffly.

“Nope. Nobody.”

“Had you been involved with the yakuza since we started dating?”

“Yes.”

Akaashi swallowed tightly, handing Bokuto a fork to dry.

“Are you _still_ involved with them?”

“No.”

“What do you plan on doing for the rest of your life?”

“Frying fish, working on motorcycles, and making sure you’re taken care of,” Bokuto listed off, finally cracking a smile.

“Hmpf.”

“What else would you like to know?”

“Did you kill that man seven-years-ago?”

“No.”

 _He’s answering quickly without hesitating. He really is telling the truth,_ Akaashi thought, pulling the sink’s drain.

“Is that all?” Koutarou asked. The bad kind of nervous butterflies went through his stomach when Keiji turned to face him again, crossing his arms over his chest as if protecting himself from the answers he was about to receive.

“Have you killed people before?”

That slowed Bokuto’s mind down for a moment. He blinked a few times, not surprised, just anticipating how much his reply would injure the love of his life.

“Yes,” He said quietly.

Akaashi’s eyes widened. The kitchen was eerily silent for a long, horrible moment, and Koutarou could do nothing but force himself to watch Keiji’s mind race behind his petrified gaze. He hoped Akaashi wasn’t wondering if _he_ had ever been in danger.

“How many?”

“Huh?”

“How many people have you killed?” Akaashi clarified in a vicious tone.

“Um…seventy-three?”

“ _Seventy-three?!_ ”

“You asked!” Bokuto cried back.

Keiji had to turn away, then, heart in sudden disarray, but his anger caused him to turn right back and face Bokuto again, eyes now enflamed with that same betrayed gaze the ex-hitman remembered from seven-years before. Koutarou had a right to know how pissed Akaashi really was about the entire situation—the truth is, he heard rumors about what Bokuto did when they were dating. But to hear the person he had dedicated four years of his life to confess it only after a prison sentence was _infuriating_ , not to mention, insulting to his character.

“What the hell did you do for these people?!” Keiji whisper-yelled accusingly. “What was your job?!”

“I was a personal hitman for the Fukurodani yakuza clan,” Bokuto tried to explain gently. How could he ever break that news gently? “Komi and I were oath brothers. We were part of the Yamiji family, and since I was the dumber of the two, they trained me as a hitman and let Komi handle business opportunities.”

Akaashi began pacing the kitchen, peeking around the corner to make sure Tetsu wasn’t snooping before making laps around the island with his hand angrily running through his hair. Koutarou knew Keiji only paced when he was _really_ angry and desperately sought to relieve his distrust.

“Akaashi, you have to believe me when I say I _wanted_ to tell you, I just didn’t know how!” Bokuto pleaded, following after Keiji and urgently trying to get his attention again. “If I would have told you that on our first date, would you or would you not have run away screaming?”

“On the _first_ _date_? Of course! But maybe after our first year together, or maybe the second or third or _fourth_ , it might have been nice to know your job description!”

“Keiji, please, just _listen_ to me!”

The ballerina stopped dead in his tracks, even letting Bokuto turn him around and hold him in place as soft, broken words fell from his lips.

“I would have listened.”

Keiji’s head was turned to the side, eyes closed as to prevent himself from crying, and from losing himself in those dazzling golden eyes that never looked more handsome when they were glowing passionately about something. Especially if that something was Akaashi himself.

“I would have listened,” Akaashi whispered, voice trembling, as was his body in Bokuto’s grip. “If you had told me back then, I would have…but, instead, you just… _left_. I saw them take you away, and when I heard what you were charged with, I _believed_ _them_.”

Koutarou was struck silent. He couldn’t do anything but stare at Akaashi, heart filled with similar memories, though none were nearly as tragic, as hopeless as this one would feel in years to come.

“I believed them because you didn’t tell me what was going on with you. And with all the rumors I had been hearing, all the evidence they had of you slaughtering that man, I thought I had been dating a cold-blooded murderer for four years.” Keiji’s expression had torn off the protective mask it donned since Bokuto fell back into his life, revealing his raw, ever-so-brokenhearted emotions as he finally glanced over at his old lover. “That’s what I thought for all those years you were in prison…because you never told me otherwise.”

“I know,” Bokuto exhaled. He stepped closer, lightly taking Akaashi’s delicate face into his palms so they were looking each other right in the eyes. “I _know_ I was wrong to never tell you. But I’m telling you the truth now, and I need you to believe me—I _need_ you to forgive me, Keiji.”

Koutarou’s words seemed to echo in Keiji’s mind, taunting and tempting him to just say yes, to fall into Bokuto’s arms and forget this whole thing ever happened. He wanted that more than anything, but…life wasn’t just about them anymore. The past was the past, and Tetsurou was Akaashi’s present and future—there was no time for wallowing on past mistakes, relationships, heartbreak. Not anymore.

“You need to leave,” Akaashi whispered shakily. He pulled Bokuto’s hands off his face and brushed past the taller man. “I have to put Tetsu to bed.”

Bokuto Koutarou followed Akaashi in silence, saying nothing until the door was just about to close behind him, at which point he turned around, leaning on the frame silently as he thought of something to say.

“Keiji.”

Akaashi sighed and glanced up, swallowing his emotion down. Bokuto looked wrecked, darker lighting exposing the distressed angles of his expression, how much dimmer his golden owl eyes had become as he stared down at Keiji.

“I’m sorry. For everything. I’m sorry I lied, I’m sorry I left you behind…I’m sorry we can’t be what we once were. You have to believe that. I miss you, and I just want to be in your life again, no matter how—I want to know you’re okay, and I want to get to know you in your new life, and I want to get to know your _son_.” Bokuto stopped to collect himself, shaking his head and looking at the ground. “I…I know I don’t deserve a second chance, but, I just…”

 _Don’t say it, you idiot. Don’t you dare say it,_ Tetsurou’s mother silently begged.

“Akaashi. I need you in my life again. Please, let us start over—I don’t care if you’ll always hate me, I don’t care if we’re never officially together again, but please…let me be your friend, if nothing else. _Please_.”

Bokuto didn’t say what Akaashi thought he would, but he was still just as affected. Standing here with Koutarou, in the entryway of his home, with his young son waiting inside, the night sky darkening around them…it felt like a dream had been interrupted. With another dream. A lost dream from long ago that had laid dormant for years, thinking itself wasted. Keiji couldn’t help but stare at Bokuto and hate him for being so stupid. And so honest. And so loyal, after all these years…even when he didn’t know Akaashi’s own secrets.

_What a stupid, stupid man. I guess I’m just as stupid, though…_

Keiji sighed at himself before reaching into his pocket and slowly holding his cell phone out. Bokuto’s face betrayed his true emotions, eyebrows rising and lips lifting upwards, but stopping before they could give a full smile. He quickly grabbed the phone, typed his number in and handed it back, letting Akaashi do the same with his own. A tiny amount of weight lifted off both their shoulders, though Keiji would never admit to it.

“Thank you,” Koutarou said, meaning every syllable. “And thanks for supper; takeout is always delicious.”

Akaashi didn’t think that was very funny, so Bokuto took that as his que to get the hell out.

“Well, have a good night, ‘Kaashi. I guess I’ll see you around.”

Bokuto turned and walked down the steps, getting halfway down the path before Akaashi spoke.

“I never hated you, Koutarou.”

Looking backwards, Bokuto watched Keiji mess with a piece of his hair, avoiding eye-contact to hide his sudden shyness.

“Distrusted and pissed at, yeah, but I never hated you,” Akaashi shrugged. Bokuto nodded in understanding.

“Not even when I left?” He asked.

Koutarou could see that afternoon as clear as day: police swarming them, grabbing onto him, cuffing him, pulling him this way and that way as he glanced back one final time, seeing Akaashi standing aside, watching with absolute horror as his boyfriend was taken away. Silent tears streamed down his cheeks, eyes wide, shattered, lips quivering with fear, right hand reaching out as if he could somehow reach Bokuto…

“No. Not even then.”

Akaashi quietly shut the front door behind him, turning off the light and leaving Bokuto in shadows—but they didn’t seem as dark as before.

Near midnight, Tetsurou Akaashi woke up to get some water; when he entered his mother’s room to see if he wanted some, too, he found the master bed empty. Thinking Akaashi had fallen asleep on the couch watching TV again, Tetsu went down the stairs towards the living room—as he did, he heard a strange noise coming from the hallway to his left. Nothing was down there except two spare rooms where they kept awards and books. Tetsurou thought it sounded like crying, and when he peeked his head inside the ajar door, he saw his mother hunched over a large shoebox.

“Mommy?”

Tetsu had to rub his eyes to make sure he was seeing right: Akaashi had been crying, for a while by the looks of things, eyelids puffy, face red, remnants of tears streaked down his cheeks. He hurriedly wiped them away when his son approached, trying to play it off as…well, anything other than what it actually was.

“Tetsu—it’s late, you should be asleep.”

“Why are you crying?” Tetsurou asked in concern, touching his mother’s head. “Did you get a boo-boo?”

“No, sweetie, I’m just—” Akaashi sniffled as he pulled his son closer. “Just looking at some old pictures…”

Tetsurou plopped down in his mother’s lap and made himself at home, peeking into the box Keiji had opened; there were probably a hundred photos tucked safely inside, along with other strange objects like opera tickets, cards, jewelry, a napkin with words on it, a key chain, even a Valentine’s owl.

“You wanna see mommy when he was young?” Akaashi offered.

“You’re still young—well, kind of,” Tetsu shrugged, glancing at the picture in front of him. “Hold up. Is that…Bokuto-san?”

“It is.”

“Wow!” Tetsurou said in awe, pulling the picture closer to inspect a younger Bokuto with his arm wrapped around Akaashi’s waist. “You guys must have been really great friends if you kept all these pictures, huh?”

_If only you knew, little one._

“We were more than friends,” Akaashi confessed, taking out a dried flower Bokuto had given him once. It took him over fifteen tries to get it right, he had told Keiji, but it was definitely worth it. “Would you believe me if I told you I dated Bokuto-san?”

“Wah?! For real, Mom?! You _dated_ fish fryer-san?!”

“I did,” Keiji chuckled softly, handing Tetsurou the dried flower. “For four years.”

“Wowww. That’s whack.”

“That’s what?”

“Whack.”

Akaashi shook his head and showed his son a few more photographs, some just of Bokuto being a dork, some of them together on dates, sitting at home, hanging out with Komi…Keiji had kept this box all through the years, though it had been a long time since he opened it. The memories were nothing but painful now, but tonight had tipped him over the edge—seeing Bokuto, being close to Bokuto after so long dug-up old memories. As much as Akaashi didn’t want to admit it, they were all great memories.

“Why are you looking at this stuff, Mom?”

“Mm…I guess I wanted to remember the good old days. Before life got complicated,” Keiji sighed.

“But…you were crying. _Sad_ crying,” Tetsurou clarified, gazing up at Akaashi in confusion. “Why would you look at this stuff if it makes you cry?”

His mother didn’t have an answer for that, staring at him for a moment before gazing back down at the box’s contents, a distant glaze over his blue eyes. Sometimes Tetsu wondered why parts of them looked so different. Maybe Bokuto-san knew why. He hoped his mother would let them play soon; he thought Bokuto was even cooler now that he had dated his mommy once. Maybe they could date again, one day, and then Tetsurou could have a father like Kenma did.

“You looked really happy then, Mommy,” Tetsurou pointed at a picture of he and Bokuto standing outside of a movie theater. Bokuto was kissing his cheek and Akaashi was squealing and trying to pull away. “You don’t look that happy in our pictures.”

“Tetsu! Of _course_ I’m happy!” Akaashi refuted lovingly, turn his son’s head to look at him. “How could you think I’m not happy?”

“Well, you’re happy with me— _duh_ , Mom—but this is like…a _different_ kind of happy,” The six-year-old tried to explain. “Your smile is different, see?”

“Hmm…I suppose you’re right. But that doesn’t mean I was happier then. I’ve never been happier than I am right now, sitting here with you.”

That got Tetsurou to blush like crazy, ducking his head and trying not to smile as Akaashi laughed at him.

“Mom, that’s so _cheesy_ ,” He giggled.

“I know,” Keiji smiled, planting a sweet kiss against his cheek. “And you _love_ it.”

“I guess…”

“Come on, let’s go to bed.”

“Can’t we watch _America’s Next Top Model_ for a while?” Tetsu begged, taking his mother’s hand as he put the box away and led them back upstairs.

“No way. It’s a school day tomorrow.”

“But Mom!”

“No.”

“Pleaseeeeee?”

“No, Tetsu.”

~~*~~

Bokuto Koutarou was going to be the death of him yet. Akaashi couldn’t focus on his ballet, couldn’t focus on Suguru’s shenanigans, couldn’t focus on helping Tetsu and Kenma with their video game level, could barely focus enough to get dressed in the morning—things were getting out of control, and Bokuto hadn’t even called yet. _I knew looking at that box would be a mistake_ , Keiji cursed himself, rubbing his sore hip as Tetsurou pulled him along the street to find a bench. _I thought after all these years I would have gotten over that owl doofus…well, to be fair, I was over him for a long time, until he came pushing back into our life like some lunatic. At least I think I was over him._

_Shit. Maybe Konoha was right._

“We can eat our frozen yogurt here, Mommy!”

“Alright.”

Tetsu sat them down on a bench so they could eat their yogurt quietly, watching the cars and people rush by; Akaashi had a show this weekend, and he was hoping Bokuto wouldn’t call then, because then he would probably offer to babysit Tetsurou or worse, attend Akaashi’s recital. _That sneaky bastard will probably come anyways,_ Keiji thought with a scowl, taking a large bite of his yogurt. _He probably has connections, so he’ll be sitting in the front row with that stupid, handsome grin of his, and he’ll probably scream for an encore like he used to, the idiot—_

“Mom, your phone is ringing.”

“It is?”

Akaashi broke away from his thoughts to slide his cell phone out, freezing when he saw who the caller was: who else could it be but Bokuto Koutarou, who had wrongfully placed an owl and smiley face emojis by his name? Keiji stared at the ringing phone for fifteen-seconds before the object was suddenly snatched away from him by his son.

“Hey, Bokuto-san!” Tetsurou answered.

_“Hey Tetsu-chan! Is your mom there?”_

“Yeah, why?”

Bokuto could be heard laughing on the other end as Akaashi tried to wrestle the phone away from Tetsurou, hissing his name in irritation. Tetsu wasn’t fazed, holding his mother back with his frozen yogurt bowl and talking casually to his fish-fryer friend.

“What’s hanging, dude?”

_“I was going to ask if you two wanted to have supper with me tonight. I know a great little café we can go to, if you’re free.”_

“We’re in!” Tetsurou agreed, leaning as far away from his mother’s grabbing hands as the bench allowed.

“Tetsu, give me the _phone_ —”

“Okay, my mom wants to talk now, but we’ll see you there, okay?!”

_“Alright, thanks, buddy.”_

Akaashi snatched the phone away, shooting a weak glare at his son as he took a deep breath and put the cell up to his ear. Tetsu grinned and hurriedly ate the rest of his yogurt, sneaking some of his mother’s while he was preoccupied with his ex.

“Bokuto-san?”

 _“Sounds like you’re having a fun time,”_ Koutarou snickered.

“You mentioned a café?”

_“Yeah, a little spot I just found not too long ago. They have really good pancakes, plus French toast and build your own breakfast!”_

“I don’t know, that sounds rather unhealthy…” Akaashi protested, hoping that was a good enough excuse to bail.

 _“They have hot chocolate with whipped cream on top~”_ Bokuto teased.

“…Really?”

_“Yeah! I guess if you have to watch your figure, we can go somewhere else…but I think Tetsu would be pretty disappointed…”_

Tetsurou had now taken to folding his hands and pleadingly looking up at his mother with large, begging puppy eyes; Akaashi enjoyed refusing the little brat, but his resolve had been greatly damaged upon having Bokuto thrown back at his shield, having not used it for quite some time. Tetsu whispered please a million times, and between that and Bokuto using Akaashi’s weakness for hot chocolate against him, there was really nothing the ballerina could do. And he hated it.

“That sounds okay,” Keiji exhaled in disappointment. When had he become so weak? “What time?”

 _“Are you free right now?”_ Koutarou asked.

“Yes.”

_“Alright, I’ll send you the directions—I’ll be waiting outside for you.”_

“Fine.”

“BYE BYE, BOKUTO-SAN!!!” Tetsurou shouted into the phone, and as a result, Akaashi’s ear.

“…That was Tetsu, as I’m sure you could tell,” Keiji groaned, grabbing at his ear. “We’ll be there soon.”

_“Can’t wait!”_

Akaashi sighed and shook his head, glancing over at his son, who was smiling brightly up at him with yogurt smeared all over his lips and cheek. That little devil knew exactly what kind of position he was putting his parent in. Keiji pretended he didn’t know where Tetsurou got that from, taking out a wipe to clean his face off.

“You’re a tornado, you know that, Tetsu?”

“Huh? How am I tornado, Mom?” He asked curiously, holding onto Akaashi’s hand as they threw away their trash and began walking.

“Because you always get involved in things I _don’t_ want to be involved in—and then you start spinning and spinning, sucking me into the storm with you.”

“Mom, I _totally_ get metaphors, but this one’s going right over my head.”

Tetsu and Akaashi walked several blocks before spotting Bokuto standing outside a small café on a quiet corner, sticking out like a sore thumb with his military boots, tattered jeans, a grey sweatshirt and a black leather jacket over it. Keiji tripped over the curb, only catching himself on account of his advanced balance skills. What was wrong with this man? Was he trying to cause car accidents or something? He caught enough attention when he dressed in suits, and now he had to take over street fashion as well? Ridiculous. Akaashi thought him absolutely ridiculous(-ly good looking) as he and Tetsurou approached him at the corner.

“Hey hey, Bokuto-san, you look like you’re in a motorcycle gang!” Tetsurou pointed out. “Those boots are _killer_!”

“Thanks, little man,” Koutarou grinned brightly. Up close, Keiji could see just how tight the jeans were on the fish fryer’s…backside. A side he was much too familiar with. “Are you hungry for some French toast?”

“I _love_ the French!”

Bokuto ruffled up Tetsurou’s hair, and Akaashi only let it slide because he was still distracted, though he played it cool and glanced away when Koutarou walked in stride beside him.

“Hey,” He greeted cautiously.

“Hello.” _Damn. Too nice._

“How are you?”

“Fine.”

Just for spite, Akaashi didn’t return the question, letting Tetsu lead them to a window booth; mostly everything on the menu had over eight-hundred calories, and of course Tetsurou ordered three slices of strawberry French toast with bacon and eggs (as if he needed more sugar). Keiji gave in to his chocolate urges and got hot chocolate, along with a ham and cheese omelette; Bokuto, on the other hand, gave a familiar order even Keiji remembered by heart.

“I’ll have the Belgian waffles with ham, hash browns, scrambled eggs and a cup of black coffee, please!”

“Coffee? But it’s almost dark out, Bokuto-san!” Tetsurou reminded him.

“I’m immune to caffeine. It’s one of my many superpowers, right, ‘Kaashi?”

“Hmpf. More like your body can’t contain anymore caffeine than it already has.”

“Ha! Mom roasted you!”

Bokuto shot a devilish grin at Keiji, who pretended he was interested in the café’s décor for a minute. When he looked back, Koutarou was still looking at him, causing Keiji to quietly panic and bring up a topic he would have rather not discussed.

“…Your style is different,” Akaashi noted in a cool tone, nodding at Bokuto’s jacket. “Since when do you wear leather and torn jeans?”

“Pft—like you’re one to talk!” Koutarou cackled. “Tetsu-chan, has your mom ever shown you how he used to dress back in the day?”

“Oh yeah,” Tetsurou nodded, playing with his straw. “I went through a hipster phase when I was four, but it didn’t take.”

“Man, everyone used to think he was so cool, dressed in his baggy pants and unmatching accessories—”

“It _was_ cool.”

“Thank goodness you met Konoha and started working at Leclair, or else who knows how you would dress now?”

Tetsu and Bokuto laughed some more at Akaashi, who couldn’t help but think he was falling deep into a trap. The more Tetsurou liked Koutarou, the more time he would want to spend with him, thus, the more time _Akaashi_ would have to spend with him. Just as friends, of course. But Keiji wasn’t stupid. He knew his own weaknesses, and Bokuto Koutarou was definitely top of the list, even if he was a goofy moron who had broken his heart.

 _I’ll be pleasant for Tetsu’s sake_ , Akaashi told himself, listening as his son discussed fashion with Bokuto, who listened intently. _As long as the subject of romance is never brought up, I think I could be safe._

“Hey, Bokuto-san, why didn’t you tell me you dated my mom?”

“Wah?!” Koutarou exclaimed, sitting back in his seat in shock. “Akaashi, you—you _told_ him?!”

“…He found me looking at some old photos,” Keiji shrugged innocently. “I was sorting through things to throw out.”

“Throw out?”

_Say it. Hurt him like he hurt you!_

“Well, at least find a different place to store them.”

_Damnit. So close…_

“Well, I think maybe mommy _should_ throw them out,” Tetsu interjected as he colored his kids menu. Both adults looked over at him in question. “They make mommy cry, and I don’t like when mommy cries. It’s too sad!”

That caught Bokuto’s attention. His head jerked the other way to stare at Akaashi seriously, mouth hovering open as he let Tetsu’s words sink in. Keiji had been _crying_ over the pictures? It took a lot to make Akaashi cry, but when he did, Koutarou knew how heavy a toll it took on him. Maybe dropping by his house without notice had been a little extreme. Or maybe Akaashi just cried a lot more easily now days. That wasn’t unlikely, given what he had to go through when Bokuto was arrested for murder.

“You… _cried_ over them?” Koutarou asked shamefully. “The pictures of us?”

“Yes,” Akaashi replied in a soft voice. _Please don’t show me sympathy…you know I love that._ “Sometimes they make me cry…and they make me mad.”

“Besides,” Tetsurou continued like he was never interrupted. “Mommy says the past is the past, and that we should live in the present! But he _also_ says, those who ignore the past are doomed to repeat it. Were you talking about time travel, Mom?”

Their conversation was (thankfully) cut short by the arrival of their food. It smelled delicious, and Akaashi was more than happy to have his attention on something else; Bokuto had gone silent on the other side of the booth, distantly taking a sip of his coffee while Akaashi cut up Tetsurou’s French toast. It was strangely satisfying, seeing Keiji have someone to take care of—he seemed to be in his own element, making sure Tetsu’s face was clean, making sure he was using his table manners…it still hurt, too, knowing Akaashi had started a family without him, though Bokuto completely understood. Something that hurt even worse, though, was seeing that Akaashi had apparently been parenting on his own for quite some time.

“Thank you!” Tetsu chirped when Keiji was done.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

“Ugh!” Bokuto shook his head in frustration. “You two are too cute!”

Tetsurou had too much food in his mouth to give a confident remark, so he gave Koutarou a toothless smile and giggled. When he finally swallowed it all down, he offered to share with Bokuto, who in return shared a piece of his Belgian waffle; Akaashi was content with his omelette and hot coco until Tetsu shoved a piece of his strawberry French toast at him.

“Mommy, try some! It’s sooo good!”

“No thank you.”

“Ah, come on, Keiji!” Bokuto cheered on. “Just one little bite. I promise it’ll change your life forever.”

“I’d rather _not_ have any change in my life, thank you very much,” Akaashi replied curtly, nudging his son’s arm away.

“Right, right—I forgot Mr. Prima Ballerina can’t have too many carbs.”

“I can too,” Akaashi huffed.

“Oh yeah?” Koutarou challenged, stabbing a piece of waffle onto his fork and holding it out. “Have some, then.”

Akaashi glared at Bokuto, then glared at the delicious, fluffy waffle bite drenched in huckleberry syrup and melted butter. It was too tempting. Keiji gave himself the excuse that it was just for spite when he leaned over the table and bit the food right off Bokuto’s fork.

“Ewww, mom’s spreading germs!” Tetsurou pointed accusingly.

“What, you mean like this?”

Keiji took his own fork and started snatching things off his son’s plate, ignoring his giggly requests to stop; Bokuto watched the scene with amusement, keeping quiet for the rest of their supper as to not interrupt their moments together. The sky was getting dark by the time Akaashi had his third hot chocolate of the night, and a text from Konoha alerted him to the time.

“Ah, we better get home.”

“But Mom, we’re having so much fun!” Tetsu whined. “Can’t we stay for a little bit longer?”

“Didn’t you want to practice math tonight?”

“Practice _math_?” Bokuto repeated, confused by the mere idea.

“Oh man, I forgot about math night! We better go, then.”

Akaashi began to take his wallet out, but he was stopped by Koutarou’s hands reaching out over his own; with a raised eyebrow, he glanced up suspiciously.

“My treat tonight, remember?” Koutarou smiled hopefully. “I’ve got this.”

“…Alright.”

“Bokuto-san, we can pay if you want—I know fish fryers don’t make that much money, so it’s okay if we pay!”

“Tetsu, don’t be rude,” Keiji chided, nudging Tetsurou out of the booth. “We’ll wait for you outside.”

“Oh—great! I’ll be right out!”

Koutarou hurriedly threw whatever bills he had in his pocket onto the table and bolted out after the mother and son, refusing to let them walk home alone, although Akaashi said it would be fine. Tetsurou entertained them by listing his reasons for liking math, his favorite equations, etc. etc. Honestly, most of it went over Bokuto’s head, but he listened to the best of his ability, nodding and humming as the boy began explaining the science behind…something.

“And if you use a specific type of mathematics, you can actually use those formulas for generating the concept of time, and you can estimate the minute and second something took place!”

“Wow!”

“I’m trying to teach my friend Kenma math, but he’s more into video games and stuff, which is cool, but you need math to make video games, so I’m using that as a way to get him to study more,” Tetsurou went on, swinging his hand that was intertwined with his mother’s. “Home sweet home!”

“Ah—I guess you’re right,” Bokuto realized, looking up to see the nice white house standing before them. “Well, I hope you enjoyed your food, Tetsu-chan.”

“It was declicioso!” Tetsurou agreed happily. Before either of the adults could respond, the boy latched onto Bokuto’s leg and hugged it tightly. “Thank you for the meal, fish fryer-san!”

Akaashi had a vacant expression on his face as he stared at the scene, and since Koutarou no longer knew what that look meant, he settled for giving a few pats on Tetsurou’s head. Having such warm physical contact was a foreign concept to Bokuto; he didn’t get a lot of friendly gestures on the inside. Considering it had been even longer since he hugged someone in return, the ex-hitman was almost brought to tears by this simple childish act of affection.

“You’re welcome, dude,” He forced out a smile. “We’ll do it again sometime, right?”

“I _pinky_ promise,” Tetsu swore honestly, saluting Bokuto before turning around and sprinting towards the house. “Mom, I’m going to start my math, okay?”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

Akaashi began strolling down the path to their front door, noticing Bokuto’s presence beside him. Once upon a time, they would have been holding hands and barely able to take their hands off each other as they said a long goodbye…but like Keiji told Tetsu, the past was the past. Now, the pair stood a foot apart as they stepped up the front steps, lifetimes apart, worlds apart.

“You don’t have to walk me to the door,” Akaashi said, though not in his usual cold tone. “We’re not on a date, you know.”

“Kinda felt like one, though,” Bokuto quirked a smile, stopping in the doorway as Keiji stepped inside. “Quiet little café, breakfast for supper, whipped cream all over the top of your lip…”

“I did _not_ have whipped cream on my lip,” Akaashi denied, self-consciously checking his mouth just in case there was a stain left.

“You did. It kind of made you look like a bunny with whiskers.”

A loud laugh escaped Keiji’s mouth before he could stop it, a beautiful noise Bokuto loved to hear. He knew he was gaping like an idiot, but he just couldn’t help himself. Akaashi seemed to catch his mistake and let his laugh die off, but there was still the tiniest trace of a smile on his (kissable) lips.

“So, this is what it’s going to be like from now on?”

“What do you mean?” Bokuto cocked his head to the side. He didn’t know how adorable that was. Or maybe he did.

“Having friendly dinner together every week, walking us home and never being invited in?” Akaashi said. “Does that bother you?”

“You underestimate my patience, ‘Kaashi!”

“Maybe.”

“Is that okay?” Koutarou asked suddenly, looking concerned. “If I call you ‘Kaashi? That’s friendly enough, but not _too_ friendly, right?”

Ah yes, the classic “are you okay with this” Akaashi heard a lot in the early stages of their relationship. Bokuto was constantly checking with Keiji (and himself) when they were on dates, when they were kissing, always wanting to know if he had permission to continue. In his own words, he never wanted Akaashi to feel pressured into anything. Not that Koutarou ever put pressure on him…if anything, he considered himself lucky Keiji was even dating him, and even luckier if by some miracle this attractive dancer wanted to have sex with him. Some rather sultry memories floated through Akaashi’s mind at an improper time, and he had to shake his head to clear them away.

“That’s fine. And…since you called me Keiji earlier, I suppose it’s fine if you call me that, too. In moderation.”

“Great.” Bokuto did his best to hide his smile. “And I’m sorry, again.”

“For what?” Akaashi frowned, not thinking anything in particular upset or irritated him tonight.

“Even though I apologized, it seems like I’m still making you sad in other ways,” Koutarou explained thoughtfully. “Can you do me a favor, Akaashi?”

Favors were dangerous. Keiji knew this and elected to remain silent, waiting for his ex to continue.

“Can you not look at those pictures of us for a while? I really don’t like the idea of you sitting on the floor bawling your eyes out.”

“I wasn’t bawling my eyes out,” Keiji mumbled, even though that was a lie. “I was just…tearful.”

“Sure, sure! But if I remember right, the only thing that could get you to stop crying was if I kissed you.”

The teasing atmosphere completely vanished, Bokuto’s smile turning into a horrified gasp as he realized what he just said. Keiji’s eyes grew wider, practically revealing all the memories that were rushing back to the forefront of his mind—they stared at each other for an intense moment, voices caught in their throats, unable to move or apologize until Akaashi broke their stare for a mere second to glance down at Bokuto’s lips.

A jolt of electricity jerked Koutarou back to life, and he could feel his own eyes widen as he too, let his gaze wander down to Keiji’s petal pink, perfectly formed lips. In the darkness of the evening, it would have been perfectly acceptable to get lost in each other, hidden by shadows as they kissed goodbye, stealing risqué touches and everything in between…they weren’t that far away, Bokuto thought he could get away with a peck, just a quick, light one. He thought he could control himself, but after seven years, his body wasn’t so certain. Keiji wasn’t straying away, wasn’t hitting him in repulsion for even thinking about kissing him—they just stood there, unable to say what they wanted, staring at each other’s lips.

Against all the odds, Akaashi and Bokuto began to lean forward ever-so-slightly.

“MOM!” Tetsu yelled from inside the house. “I’m starting on the quantum equations!”

“…Goodnight, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said, pulling himself back before he was sucked into another tornado. “Thank you for supper.”

“Yeah,” Koutarou nodded, clearing his throat. “Thanks for coming. Have a good night, Akaashi.”

Even though Akaashi promised Bokuto he wouldn’t look at their pictures anymore, that night, after Tetsu had fallen asleep, Keiji took the photograph of he and Koutarou sitting on a bench laughing together one summer and hung it up on the fridge. To him, there was nothing wrong with putting up pictures of old friends.

~~*~~

Bokuto wandered through Tokyo until he found himself at the fish cart, where Yukie was closing up for the night. She was startled by his sudden appearance, thinking he was drunk with how starry his eyes were; after finally getting him to stop pacing aimlessly, Bokuto told her all about his evening with Akaashi and Tetsurou, how they shared waffles and drank hot chocolate, how they walked home together and how Tetsu told him about how much he loved math. Yukie was shocked to hear that Akaashi was back in Koutarou’s life after all this time, but she couldn’t help but be quietly pleased.

“Wow. You really had dinner with him? _Twice_?” Yukie clarified. Bokuto nodded eagerly. “Wow. Wow. I’m shook.”

“And then tonight, when I took him home, we were standing by the door talking, and I just—I just wanted to kiss him so _badly_ , Yukie, and for a second I thought he wanted me to!”

“Wait. You almost kissed? As in…kissed?”

“I know!”

“But…I thought he hated you,” Yukie wondered out-loud.

“I know!”

“I specifically didn’t tell him about you working at the fish cart because I thought he would be upset, and now you guys are getting involved again?”

The friends looked at each other and let out huge sighs.

“My life’s a mess, I know,” Bokuto sighed, running a hand through his hair angrily. “I always fuck everything up. I know things are going to go well for a while, but Akaashi’s not going to forget what I put him through so easily, and I just...don’t want to fail this time, you know? Especially now that there’s a kid involved. I don’t want to hurt either of them.”

When Koutarou looked over, Yukie was actually rolling her eyes at him.

“Um, did you just _roll your eyes_ at my pain?”

Komi’s fiancé stood up and grabbed onto Bokuto’s broad shoulders, looking him dead in the eye. For a minute he thought she was going to say something inspirational.

“Bokuto. You’re an idiot.”

Koutarou blinked a few times, letting that sink in and wondering if he heard her right.

“H-Hey! That’s not very nice, even if it is true!”

“You’re in the best possible position you could be!”

“What the hell are you talking about?!”

Yukie sighed again, shaking her head in disappointment.

“Don’t you ever watch romcoms like Komi? Akaashi is a single mother with a great career, fans all over the world, a nice house, a nice car, a dorky son, but what’s the one thing he’s missing in his life?”

“Um…life insurance?” Bokuto guessed.

“No! Love!” Yukie shouted.

 _Ohhhh. That makes more sense,_ Koutarou realized, slowly nodding in agreement.

“You’re the ex-lover who broke his heart! It’s the perfect plot, don’t you see?!” She continued passionately. “You’re coming back to him after being in prison for seven long years, and you’re both lonely and in need of appreciation and respect, and you’re going to do everything you can to win him back. Right?!”

“Right!” Bokuto jumped up from his seat. “But…how?”

Yukie and Koutarou stood in silence, a few passer-byers looking at them funny. No ideas came to mind when it came to winning someone back; it was easier said than done.

“…I don’t actually know. I’ll have to subtly ask Komi about some romcom plots.”

“Okay. You do that. In the meantime, I’ll just pine, cry myself to sleep and follow Akaashi around Tokyo until he forgives me.”

“You’re going to win him back, Bokuto-kun,” Yukie promised hopefully. “You will, I just know it!”

“I hope you’re right, Yukie,” He exhaled. “I really, _really_ hope you’re right.”


	3. "just once more"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternately titled "the art of seduction"

_“Please, just once more_

_If I could see you again_

_I don’t care if I lose my everything”_

Before Bokuto won Akaashi back with his irresistible charm, blue-collar job and Belgian waffles, there were a few things he had to get sorted out. First up was his apartment; the prison had set him up with one when he got out, but it was a piece of junk, and if Bokuto ever wanted Akaashi to allow Tetsurou over, he would have to get a bigger, more child-friendly place. Secondly, Bokuto needed some new clothes. He liked his new casual style, but since Akaashi was such a fashionista now, the ex-hitman figured he had better level-up his wardrobe for special occasions. Besides, someone had sold all his suits and designer shoes when he went to prison, so this was a revenge shopping trip—Bokuto wanted to look better than he ever did before, and there was only one place to go: Leclair’s Boutique.

The shop looked entirely different under new management, obsidian granite on every nook and cranny, flawless white leather chairs in the waiting area, a new department for jewelry, diamond-embedded chandeliers on the ceiling…it was really something to behold. _Konoha did a number on this place_ , Bokuto thought in amazement, whistling under his breath as he waited at the front desk. _He and Akaashi always did have a flare for the dramatics when they worked together. He didn’t look it, but I remember how Keiji used to tell me about how he loved riding on motorcycles late at night, when you can see all the city lights flashing as you drive by…_

“H-Hello!” A chirpy, quivering voice asked. A tiny little blonde girl appeared from behind the desk—had she been hiding under it this whole time? She looked downright terrified of Bokuto. “My name is…is Yachi. H-How can I help you, sir?”

“Hey Yachi-chan—I’m Bokuto. I need some new outfits; real fancy stuff so people think I look cool, you know?”

“Oh…okay!” She looked relieved that Bokuto wasn’t here to rob the place. “Is there a particular brand you had in mind, sir?”

“Well, all of my _Gieves and Hawkes_ suits got sold some years back, so I need an entirely new wardrobe.”

“I’ll say.”

Bokuto grinned upon hearing that voice, turning around to face Konoha Akinori, Akaashi’s best friend from dance school. He too, had underwent a drastic change in style, though his designer sneakers and lip ring showed just a touch of that retro-skater fashion the friends once shared; Konoha was looking Bokuto up and down, narrowed eyes judging his own style with disapproval.

“Hey hey, Konoha-kun! Good to see you! You really took this place up a whole new level, huh?”

Konoha didn’t give Bokuto’s comment the time of day, still appraising his ex-friend as Yachi stood between them, anxiously rocking on her feet.

“Um…you want my autograph or something?” Bokuto asked awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head.

“…Yachi, would you assist me for an hour?” Konoha requested, finally meeting Koutarou’s eyes. “Mr. Yakuza here needs some new suits.”

“C-Certainly, sir!” She bowed.

“Come with me.”

Bokuto was led to a private dressing room in the back of the store, and he made a mental note to keep his eye out in case Konoha was still sour about what happened seven-years-ago. Without making any personal talk, Konoha selected several different dress suits and shoes from a rack, holding them up to Bokuto’s chest and nodding to himself before handing them to Yachi. Koutarou didn’t complain only because he liked the colors Konoha had picked out. Yachi helped pin them up in all the right places, and her nervous voice was the only one speaking throughout the entire appointment, nervously rambling about the prices, constantly adjusting the suits and complimenting their shade against Bokuto’s skin. This brand seemed a lot fancier than other ones, a lot like Komi’s new set, and Bokuto believed they would knock Akaashi out of the park.

“Alright, we’ve got the basics down—do you have any really suave black suits?”

“Black?” Konoha asked, raising an eyebrow. “Like…for formal events?”

“Yeah yeah, you know, like a James Bond tux?” Bokuto clarified.

Konoha rolled his eyes, but turned around and headed towards a different clothing rack.

“Let me see what we have that fits that description.”

Yachi took Bokuto in the dressing room one more time, sliding a sleek black suit over his shoulders; it had a slimmer fit than the others, accenting his strong shoulders and thick forearms perfectly, and the black shade was impeccable. Even Yachi started to blush a little, hiding behind her customer to avoid seeing Koutarou’s handsome figure in the mirror. It might have been a little too PG-13 for her.

“O-Okay, let’s…let’s go see what Konoha-san thinks…” She stuttered.

“Right!”

Bokuto hopped up on the stand and gave himself a good look in the mirror, grinning when he saw how hot he looked. Konoha even looked impressed, silently coming forward and adjusting parts of the suit—Akaashi flashed through his head, and he felt sorry for the poor bastard. If he ever saw his ex wearing this in the streets, may God have mercy on his soul. It fit Bokuto like a glove, just tight enough around his athletic waist, pointing out his devilish shoulders, brightening his olive skin against jet black fabric, pants tight in all the right places…the fact that it might be considered a federal crime to allow an attractive man to wear this suit also went through Akinori’s mind.

“This is the Givenchy slim-fit in wool and mohair,” Konoha explained as he adjusted the tux’s shoulders. “It has a satin collar and a left-breast pocket, starting price 264 thousand yen.”

“Oo, Givenchy! They’re really fancy, right?”

_Still a dorky idiot. Akaashi was right._

“Yes. Very…James Bond-like.”

“Nice!”

Konoha let Bokuto move into different modeling poses, getting a laugh out of Yachi when he put his hands on his hips and swung left. It really did look amazing on him—Bokuto admired himself with a bright grin, although he noticed Konoha still looking at him thoughtfully in the corner of the mirror.

“Yakuza don’t usually shop here anymore, Bokuto-san,” He finally said.

“I’m not a yakuza anymore,” Koutarou replied casually, turning to the side. “Damn, this even makes my ass look good!”

“Alright, then: why does an _ex_ -yakuza need a formal suit, and why would he come to my shop to get it?”

“Well, I’ve always like this shop, and you never know,” The taller man shrugged. “I might want to go to a show or something.”

“You can’t sit through shows,” Konoha snickered. “Remember at our recitals, you would be fidgeting and squirming around like a little kid until Akaashi got on stage?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Bokuto smiled good-naturedly. “How come you didn’t join the ballet like ‘Kaashi did?”

“Got old after a while. Besides, he looks a lot better in a tutu than I do.”

“ _Totally_.”

Konoha rolled his eyes again and looked like he wanted to talk more on the subject, but stopped himself short and changed the subject.

“Do you like this suit or no?”

“Yeah, I love it—I’ll take this one and the ones on the rack. Can you put it on my tab like in the old days?”

“…Fine. But you better pay it this time. Yachi, will you help me take these suits to the back?”

“Y-Yes!”

Konoha helped Bokuto set up his new account and put in his new address so the suits could be delivered there; the final bill was pretty hefty, but Koutarou assured his old friend he had enough funds to pay. He could tell something was eating at Akinori, stubbornly refusing to bring up the conversation until they were nearly done with their transaction.

“…You’ve spoken to Akaashi?” Konoha asked stiffly, although he already knew the answer.

“Yup.”

“So…you two are…friends?”

“Mhm.”

“Ha. We’ll see how long that lasts.”

“Why does everyone think I’m so impatient?!” Bokuto whined in annoyance. “I’m the most patient person I’ve ever met!”

Konoha chuckled to himself, then, giving Koutarou a strange, knowing look.

“Oh, it’s not _you_ who’s impatient, Bokuto,” He warned.

Bokuto stared at him in confusion, blankly taking the long paper slip as Konoha shut the register.

“Here’s your receipt, sir. Thank you for your business. Your suits will be delivered on Thursday afternoon.”

“H-Have a good day, Bokuto-san!” Yachi bowed lowly.

“Thanks Yachi-chan! I’ll see you guys around, okay?”

Yachi and Konoha watched Bokuto strut out of the boutique, Yachi giving a large sigh when he was out of sight. She didn’t understand the relationship her boss had with Bokuto-san, but it was all very intriguing—the mystery deepened when Konoha mumbled under his breath while heading to his office.

“Watch out, Keiji…you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

~~~*~~~

Like every Friday night, Akaashi was backstage preparing for their ballet performance, getting the final touches of his makeup done before he went and did some last-minute stretching with Suguru. He was focused tonight, determined to make-up for all the distracted practices he had been experiencing lately; Tetsurou was at home with Kaori, the bills were paid, Akaashi had eaten his protein snack and dressed in his costume. Everything was in order for a great show.

“On in ten!”

“Let’s go get in position, Akaashi-kun,” Daishou said.

“I’ll be right there.”

Akaashi had a habit of peeking out at the crowd before their shows started, just to see all the people that came to watch them dance; it was satisfying to see everyone so calm and collected before they found themselves cheering and hollering for an encore. There was something about making rich-ass billionaires bow at his feet that made Keiji smile. The stadium was packed tonight, final attendants just settling into their seats as the overhead lights dimmed, making way for the bright stage lights—like always, Akaashi started on the left and ended when he hit the middle of the crowd, scanning over hundreds of faces…but something strange, something unsettling and familiar caught his attention right as he was about to look away. In a very particular seat, smack-dab in the middle of the entire building was a broad-shouldered man with spikey grey hair, an upright and attentive position, a black suit and golden eyes that illuminated their shine even in the darkness. He was sitting exactly where he had several years before, in a different studio, when he attended every single one of Akaashi’s earliest shows, even if his role wasn’t very important.

It was Bokuto.

“Shit…what the hell is _he_ doing here?” Akaashi wondered out-loud, immediately going to bite his nail as he ducked out of view. “Did Tetsu invite him? If he did, I swear…”

“We’re on in five!”

“Akaashi!” Suguru hissed, wildly motioning to his partner. “Let’s go!”

Keiji scurried over, frantic to pull himself back into reality as the ballet was introduced, the orchestra readying their instruments—but all he could think about was Bokuto, Bokuto Koutarou coming to one of his shows, just like the old days, when he would wait for him in the alley and walk him home, where he would give Keiji a warm bath and rub his sore feet until they didn’t hurt anymore. This was not the time to be reminiscing, but Akaashi couldn’t help it.

“Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Daishou noted the even paler shade of Keiji’s skin.

“…I might have,” Akaashi murmured.

Suguru didn’t understand what he meant, but they didn’t have time to discuss—the curtain was being pulled back, and the first herd of ballet dancers drifted onstage to the music. _Forget about it, forget about him!_ The ballerina silently yelled at himself, hands beginning to tremble with jitters. _Just dance the way you always do. Pretend Suguru is the love of your life. But don’t picture him as Bokuto! He doesn’t exist! He’s gone! Forget about it._

“Focus, focus…”

Akaashi angrily shook his head and exhaled a deep, calming breath. If he was going to get through this, he would have to dance his best as revenge. Yeah, that could work. He would dance his absolute best as a way of getting back at Koutarou for all the hell he put him through. He would be all over Suguru like they were secretly together. Well, maybe he wouldn’t take it that far (he still had some dignity to maintain), but every little thing he did had to be _flawless_. It had to be perfect, just so Bokuto could see what he was missing, what he had missed out on for seven long years.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Akaashi nodded certainly. “I’m good.”

The prima ballerina’s plan was a good one, but the second he stepped on-stage, his dancing ended-up being for the one person he was trying to forget.

Akaashi danced the best to his ability, and many of the critics and loyal ballet followers would later say it was one of his best performances ever recorded—every jump was the perfect height, every step perfectly timed, every expression accurate and every movement carefully in-step with the bouncing music. The entire audience was captivated, struck silent by the breathtaking display, eyes never leaving the stage for a split-second; but no one was more intrigued and involved than Bokuto. He had missed watching Keiji dance, missed the passion and fury he used to launch himself into the air, especially missed watching him glide across the stage like some kind of revived Greek tragedy. Akaashi was a great dancer when he was younger, but now, Bokuto was sure he was a master.

Honestly, Koutarou had no idea what the plot was about, but it really didn’t matter when the lead dancer himself was so mesmerizing. Suguru Daishou was okay, suitable enough to be Keiji’s partner, and although he was used to being in the spotlight, Bokuto was certain his talents were nothing compared to Akaashi’s. Suguru may have been a great technical dancer, but there was something deeper in Akaashi’s kicks and jumps, something beyond art—it was as if a statue had come to life, free from its binding stone and able to twist and use all its strength to showcase its emotions the only way it knew how. Bokuto’s wide eyes never even considered blinking or glancing away from Akaashi, and throughout the entire show the fish fryer barely moved a muscle.

When the performance ended, the audience needed a long minute to even realize what happened, after which they erupted into hundreds of cheers and exuberant clapping. None were louder than Bokuto. Suguru and Akaashi joined hands and bowed with the rest of the dancers, smiling with their damp lips and fatigued muscles as several people shouted for an encore. Recognizing one of the voices, Keiji dared to let his eyes drift towards the middle of the crowd where an attractive man was waving his arms around wildly and hollering to the gods, a large grin stretched far across his cheeks; he looked prouder than stay-at-home mothers cheering on their toddler in a no-score baseball game. When Bokuto noticed Keiji looking near his direction, his eyes sparkled even brighter, and he gave a loud yell that somehow made its way to the stage:

“GET IT, AKAASHEE!!!”

And he knew Akaashi heard him because of the tiniest trace of blush that tinted his cheeks even through the makeup.

~~~*~~~

“Great show, Akaashi-san!”

“Yeah, you were incredible!”

“I thought for sure Suguru was going to blow a fume when he saw how many roses you got.”

“He might have, judging on how quickly he ducked away to his dressing room,” Keiji chuckled lightly, making his way through the bustling hall with several other ballerinas following after him. They were very dedicated to their star, and many had crushes on him.

“Get lots of rest tonight, Akaashi-sama, and don’t forget to stretch when you get home!”

“Will do, Hinata-kun.”

“Goodnight, Akaashi-san!”

“Get home safely.”

When Keiji finally made it to the security of his private dressing room, he released a heavy sigh, plopping down at his makeup desk tiredly; physically, he actually felt okay, but Akaashi was too mentally drained to talk anymore. He brushed aside the dozens of roses his peers had collected from the stage and placed on the desk, grabbing a makeup remover and going to work so he could get home to Tetsurou. Though his original thoughts laid with his precious son, they soon drifted back to the performance, the familiar voice calling out to him when they bowed…

 _Idiot_ , Akaashi shook his head, forcing himself not to smile. H _e knows I hate/love when he makes a scene like that. I wonder why he was here, though; did he come alone? He said he wasn’t seeing anyone…he must have been alone. He’ll probably give the excuse that he hadn’t been to a show in a long time or something. Wait…did Konoha put him up to this?_

Keiji was so caught up in his thoughts he didn’t notice the dressing room door open silently and someone enter behind him.

_I remember my first big show, when Bokuto-san threw a big party for Konoha and I at that bar…he knew the owner, so we had a private room, but then I pretended to be drunk so he would help me to the bathroom. I wonder how the rest of that party went? Well, it’s not like he’ll throw a party for me now. Maybe I’ll ask Konoha about that party, tomorro—_

Seeing movement in the mirror, Akaashi nearly flinched right out of his chair, eyes widening then almost relaxing when he recognized Bokuto standing there in a nice suit, hands in his pockets as he smiled at his ex.

“Bokuto-san. How…what…”

“I may have snuck backstage so I could talk to you,” Bokuto admittedly sheepishly. Honestly, Akaashi wasn’t really listening, too absorbed in the way that black suit fit his ex so…nicely. Who was he kidding—Bokuto looked hot. 10/10 would call, as Tetsu said. “I thought you were an amazing dancer back in the day, but…you’ve somehow gotten even better at it. You’re the prettiest ballerina I’ve ever seen.”

Akaashi was so taken-aback by the sight he wasn’t able to stop staring at Koutarou’s reflection even as he replied, mind thousands of miles away as he looked over every inch of Bokuto’s luscious body all packed into one perfectly-tight suit. He was sure he was blushing, but wasn’t sure if that was because he had been called pretty or because of…other reasons.

“Thanks. I’m glad you enjoyed the show.”

“Well, I couldn’t follow most of the plot, but the music and costumes were cool!”

Akaashi gave a loose smile at that, and since Bokuto didn’t seem to be aware of his staring, slyly continued while absentmindedly wiping his makeup off.

“So, prima ballerina Keiji—what do you usually do after your majorly successful shows?” Bokuto wondered. “Go out for drinks, have some supper with your friends…”

“Usually I just go home, stretch, kiss Tetsurou goodnight and have a few glasses of wine.”

Koutarou laughed lightly at that lukewarm response, checking Akaashi out just as much as he was being checked out; the ballerina suddenly remembered he wasn’t supposed to be encouraging his ex-boyfriend and hurriedly sought to turn his expression back to one of indifference. They were just friends.

“So,” Akaashi started coolly, standing up to unzip his costume. “What brings you to a ballet performance, Bokuto-san?”

“Oh, you know…I love a good three-hour peep show,” Koutarou joked, though the last words died in his throat when Keiji yanked down his outfit without any warning, leaving him in nothing but sheer tights (which left nothing to the imagination). His backside had become more toned and perky than Bokuto thought was humanly possible. _Would it be inappropriate to reach out and touch it?_ “Um…do you, uh—want me to step out for a minute?”

“No. Why?”

“Come on, ‘Kaashi, you know why!”

“You’ll have to elaborate,” Akaashi replied casually, sliding a white long-sleeved shirt over his head. “Friends shouldn’t have a problem seeing other friends naked, anyway.”

Bokuto bit his fist when Keiji bent over, taking his sweet time rummaging around in his bag before finally finding the black joggers he was looking for.

“Y-Yeah,” Bokuto stuttered. “You’re totally right…”

Keiji tied his sneakers, grabbed his bag and collected the pile of red roses on his table; he expected Koutarou to say goodbye and head out, but instead he opened the dressing room door for Akaashi when he went to leave. He got a mumbled thanks in response, hitman following after the ballerina like a lost puppy as they walked down a dark hallway together.

“Didja hear me cheering for you?”

“I think the entire stadium heard you.”

“Hehe—so you did hear me,” Bokuto giggled childishly. “That Suguru guy is pretty good, but I don’t think he’s good enough to be your partner.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Akaashi accidentally smiled, forcing it down as quickly as it had come. “Daishou-kun is a very capable dancer. I’m lucky to have been paired with him.”

“I guess. But isn’t there some super-smoking foreign guy you could dance with? I hear the French are really into ballet, and I think that photographer Lev guy could probably hook you up with some Russian dudes.”

“Oh, so we’re setting each other up, now?”

Bokuto hesitated for a noticeable second, then faked a friendly smile as they exited the stadium and entered the back parking lot.

“Just being a good friend,” He said simply.

Akaashi didn’t let himself comment, strolling over to the only car left in the lot; he knew he needed to get away from his ex as soon as possible, or else risk losing himself to the quiet night, the shadows and the unfairly sinful attraction that was Bokuto Koutarou. Unfortunately, his keys had a different idea, lost somewhere in his bag as he struggled in his search for them.

 _Just turn around and walk away_ , Keiji silently begged, eyes flickering up to peek at Bokuto, who was still standing hardly a foot away, watching the ballerina shuffle around for his keys. _Say goodbye and go home. Please._

“Kaashi, can I tell you something? As a friend?”

“No,” Akaashi answered immediately, followed by “Well, I guess you can...”

_Just don’t look at him. Keep looking for your keys, and don’t look up. Stay strong._

“I just want to tell you how proud I am of you.”

Akaashi’s hands froze in their place, and he found his eyes drifting upwards until they locked with Koutarou’s, pulled in by the sincerity of their shine.

“I mean…in just a few years, you’ve managed to buy your own house, get a nice car, rise to the top of the ballet world _and_ become a great mother,” Bokuto said thoughtfully. “That’s a lot to be proud of, Keiji. I can’t even begin to imagine how hard you worked to get this far, and I know it couldn’t have always been easy, especially when you were raising a child all by yourself.”

“Not…Not entirely by myself,” The black-haired man choked out, hardly aware of what he was saying. “Konoha and the others helped, too…”

“True. But you’re the one pulling all the weight. You’re the one who’s balancing all this crazy shit happening in your life and somehow spinning it into gold. Tetsurou comes before anything else, and not a lot of famous athletes are able to create that much stability as well as you have.”

Bokuto smiled over at Akaashi, who was staring up at him with those mysterious midnight blue eyes he was once accustom to seeing every night like this.

“I’m really proud of you for getting everything you wanted out of life.”

A long second passed, Bokuto’s last words hovering in the air before two slender hands grabbed him by his collar and pushed him up against the Lexus GS—Koutarou had time to respond, but he was too curious as to what would happen next that he let himself be forcibly held against the car; Akaashi suddenly right up in his face, blue eyes darkening a shade further, glossy lips hardly an inch away from his own.

“Not _everything_.”

A shockwave woke-up Bokuto’s body when he found himself being aggressively kissed, instinct responding quicker than his mind could; the kiss was heated from the very start, lips searching and twisting for the perfect angle, although the more sane part of Koutarou would argue that the touch alone was perfect. Akaashi’s hands were greedily grabbing and pulling at Bokuto, so desperate to feel him again he had slid his hands inside the black tux and was feeling every inch of his ex’s torso. There were no words or coherent thoughts running through their minds, only relief and hunger as Koutarou finally allowed himself to grab Keiji’s face and push him even further into the kiss.

Akaashi exhaled through his nose, letting his hands wander wherever and forgetting to think about how long he had been waiting for this, how long he had waited for Bokuto—all old memories were thrown out the window when Koutarou tilted the ballerina’s head for better access, deepening their connection and teasing Keiji with flickers of his tongue. Akaashi allowed him in easily, shivering when his mouth was invaded, immediately overwhelmed by sensation, thick hands making sure he wasn’t about to go anywhere; their well-practiced dance continued, just as memorable as the ballet show had been, although with the grabbing hands, needy pushes and sloppy kisses, this show might have been rated a bit more mature.

Bokuto was quickly becoming blinded by his lust for love, swooping down to attach himself to Keiji’s throat when they finally broke apart for air. He alternated between biting and sucking, pushing off the car to get a better grip on his ex as Akaashi panted for air, eyelids fluttering while Koutarou ravished his neck.

“So much for ‘just friends’, huh?” Akaashi breathed.

“Mm…” Bokuto agreed in-between nibbles. ‘Konoha was right—all I had to do was wait _you_ out.”

“You…You talked to Kono— _ha!_ ”

Koutarou bit down on Akaashi’s special spot, right above his delicate collarbone, leaving a gentle kiss on the skin before making his way back up, up, up to the corner of Keiji’s flushed lips. Just as he was peppering kisses to that spot, the ballerina suddenly turned his head, partially pulling away and loosely grabbing onto the front of Bokuto’s suit—if they kept going, there was no way Akaashi was going to be able to stop. He would have to have Koutarou, he _wanted_ Koutarou, absolutely _needed_ to feel his touch and kiss his stupid face after so many years apart, but…

“We should stop,” Akaashi said lowly, still catching his breath. “I have to get home to Tetsurou, so…w-we have to stop.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Bokuto replied honestly, still sucking in Keiji’s scent while cuddled between his neck and shoulder. His hands were being too tempting, sliding up and down Akaashi’s slender waist. “It’s been so long since I’ve touched you, Keiji…there hasn’t been anyone else. You’re the only one I could ever think about when I was stuck in that cell—I tried to imagine you as best I could, tried to remember your hands…”

Koutarou reached up and took one of Akaashi’s pale, lean hands where it was holding onto his tux.

“Your smell…”

The hair on the back of Keiji’s neck stood up when Bokuto’s nose just _barely_ brushed against the soft hair of his temple, inhaling deeply; the ballerina forced his eyes to open when the taller man leaned back slightly, intoxicated gaze trained on the lower portion of Akaashi’s face.

“Your _lips_.”

This kiss was a lot softer than the others, one so familiar Keiji felt like bursting into tears. Instead, he let Bokuto slowly turn them so the dark haired man was against the car, kissing each other slowly and gently as a flood of fond (and painful) memories came rushing back. Bokuto’s lips were the same as ever, full and powerful, unbearably gentle in their movements even as they slowly broke apart, refusing to back any further away from each other.

“I missed you, too,” Keiji breathed softly. “More than I’d like to admit. But…I can’t.”

The fish fryer smiled a crooked, knowing smile.

“But you already knew that.”

“As Tetsurou says, _duh_.”

Akaashi laughed angelically, letting Bokuto hold them against each other and use his thumb to carefully stroke the ballerina’s velvet cheek; despite their PG-13 display moments before, the night around them was calm, quiet, respectful of their reunion. The pair stood there together for a few minutes, just happy to be in the other’s embrace again—Keiji had forgotten what it was like to be held so closely, and it honestly made the butterflies in his stomach go crazy. The last time someone was this close had been seven long years ago, although that hadn’t happened with the person he was with now…

“I don’t care about that, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto quietly admitted. “If this is the last time I can ever touch you…I’ll just be happy I got to do it one last time.”

Koutarou was confused when he got a heavy sigh in response, but he didn’t overthink it too much because the act was followed by another sweet kiss to his lips, if only for a few seconds.

“You know,” Keiji started. “I really hate when you’re thoughtful, Bokuto-san.”

“Pft—that’s not something I’d ever think you’d say to me. Usually you’re begging me to be more thoughtful.”

Bokuto felt their fingers intertwine below, sending a thrill up his veins that made it all the way to his head.

“Let me drive you home.”

“You mean in this super nice car of yours? Hell yeah!”

Another cute laugh fell from Akaashi’s mouth when Bokuto bounced over to the passenger side, waiting to be let in like an overexcited child. Once Keiji finally found his keys they drove off into the night, radio a mere background sound compared to their racing thoughts, both still keyed-up from their earlier escapades. Koutarou didn’t want to over-step their boundaries (even though they had just made-out per Akaashi’s horny attack), but Keiji was apparently over not touching his ex, because their hands somehow found their way back together, interlocked until they parked outside of Bokuto’s new apartment complex. They looked over at each other, then, both a little starstruck, but the happiest they had felt in a while.

“So…” The fish fryer began.

“So…”

“Are we, like… _best_ friends, now?” Koutarou tried to clarify. “I don’t think people who are regular friends kiss that passionately.”

“I don’t want to give it a name just yet,” Akaashi shrugged. He was slightly disappointed in himself for giving in just because his newly-released ex-boyfriend looked gorgeous in a tux. But how was that _his_ fault? “But, I suppose, technically…”

Keiji looked over at him fondly, and Bokuto could tell by his sigh that good news was coming.

“We’re _almost_ back together.”

“I’ll take it!”

Akaashi tried not to cry when Bokuto flung himself over the middle console to hug the ballerina tighter than ever, strong arms holding him as if they were protecting him from the world. Keiji could have used one of these hugs during recent years.

“I’ve missed our hugs,” Koutarou confessed, squeezing him even tighter. “And our kisses…and _other_ things..”

“I know. I have, too,” Keiji nodded into his shoulder. How did he still smell the same, after all this time? “Now go, before I really disappoint myself.”

Bokuto was grinning when they released each other, planting one last kiss on the cheek before unbuckling his seatbelt and reaching for the door handle.

“Text me when you get home, okay?”

“Okay. And…Bokuto?”

“Yeah?”

The single mother paused, a rather disturbed look on his face as he remembered something from earlier.

“Did you really jerk off to me while you were in prison?”

“Well—Well—” Bokuto struggled, cheeks burning with redness. “I had to!!! I was in there for _seven years_ , ‘Kaashi! Give me a break!”

“Goodnight, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi laughed.

_Nice to know he’s still easy to tease._

They waved one last time, and the fish fryer finally let Keiji drove off into late-night traffic; Bokuto waited until the Lexus was out of sight, lost in the neon gleam before giving a fist pump into the sky and letting out a cheer loud enough for all his new neighbors to hear.

~~~*~~~

The next morning, Akaashi woke-up feeling energized and happy—the happy part was nothing new, but usually on Saturday mornings following a show Keiji was exhausted. Today was different for reasons Tetsu didn’t understand, nor did he _want_ to understand, because he had a playdate with Kenma. His mom cooked (bought) them cute Pokémon bento and milktea and let them play all afternoon without bugging them once; not that Tetsu minded when he bugged them. The ballerina’s behavior did become suspicious, though, when Tetsurou came into the living room to ask Akaashi something and he found his mother humming while putting his red roses into a vase.

“Mommyyyy.”

“Hi baby.”

“Whatcha humming for?” Tetsurou asked curiously, crawling onto the couch beside Akaashi.

“Because I’m awful at singing, remember?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Keiji really didn’t have to smile so much at that, going back to arranging the roses and humming to himself cheerfully. Tetsu found it quite disturbing, but then he realized it might have something to do with his mother’s personal life—he knew Akaashi had an amazing show last night (because he always did) and thought maybe it had something to do with the nice article in the paper, but a different theory seemed more likely for reasons Tetsurou couldn’t explain. To test this, he went right out and asked his first question.

“Can I sleepover at Kenma’s tonight?”

“Tonight?” Keiji repeated, finally looking up from his flowers. “I don’t know…did you ask his parents first?”

“Kenma said he asked them before he came,” The boy nodded certainly. “Can I go, Mom, pleeeeease?”

Tetsu watched very carefully, staring at his mother’s expression as he silently considered the matter. His dark eyebrows weren’t scrunched like usual. He didn’t seem to really be entirely focused on the idea. His blue eyes flickered around, then relaxed to a lighter color after only a minute of contemplation. Usually it took him two minutes.

“I suppose you and Kenma can have some fun. Go pack some pajamas and underwear.”

“ _Yes!_ Thanks Mom, you’re the best!” Tetsu cheered, giving his mother a quick kiss on the cheek before running off to find a bag. He peeked back one more time, noticing how different Akaashi’s smile was today and stored the information away for later, when he and Kenma could discuss it in private.

The boys were at the Kozume house within the hour, ready for a night of games and giggling and snacks; Akaashi made sure Tetsu had two pairs of underwear along, just in case he laughed so hard he peed like the first time he and Kenma had a slumber party. Kenma went ahead to ready his bedroom as Keiji walked his son up to the front door, playing with the boy’s hair like he usually only did when he was in a super good mood.

“Don’t give the Kozume’s any trouble, understand?” Akaashi warned, though his tone wasn’t as dominant as usual.

“ _Please_ , Mom, I’m _never_ trouble,” Tetsurou grinned evilly.

“Be good, and don’t stay up too late, okay?”

“I won’t, I won’t. Soooo…what are you going to do all night when I’m gone?”

Akaashi raised an eyebrow at that remark, since Tetsurou usually never cared what his mother did when he was gone. Out of sight out of mind was his motto for everything.

“Hm…I don’t know,” His mother shrugged. “Maybe I’ll call Konoha and see if he’s busy.”

“Yeah, go out and get _wasted_ with Konoha-san!”

Tetsurou did a strange dance move and got his mom to laugh loudly, ruffling his hair one last time before leaning down to give him a big kiss.

“Have fun, squirt. I love you.”

“I love you more!”

_Doubtful. It’s so like him to think so…he grows more like his father every day._

Akaashi shook his head and reluctantly let Tetsu go, driving back home with the radio on louder than usual. The house was disturbingly quiet for a Saturday night, no movies or music playing in the background underneath Tetsurou’s screeches and laughs…Keiji turned the TV on just so there was some noise other than his light footsteps. He debated binge-watching some shows, but he wasn’t in the mood to just sit around, although he was basically dressed to do so, wearing a baggy white sweater with the sleeves rolled up, black leggings and fuzzy socks. _Maybe I’ll text Konoha and see if he wants to go out,_ the single mother debated, slowly pacing around his room. _We could get drinks, maybe…but I don’t really feel like “getting wasted” like Tetsu said to do. But Konoha likes to dance whenever we’re together, and I don’t know if I have that much energy leftover…but I can’t just sit here all night…_

“Maybe…”

Akaashi had to stop where he was standing when the memories of last night came back, hitting him like a ton of bricks all over again—stupid Bokuto wearing a black suit with his strong shoulders, perfect ass and irresistible silliness…Keiji knew he had been pathetic to give-in so easily, but they were probably past the indifferent strangers phase, now. He could no longer pretend he wasn’t still completely head-over-heels for Bokuto Koutarou. Plus, hadn’t Akaashi told him they were _almost_ back together? It wouldn’t be so crazy to call him tonight, then, if they were already planning on dating again.

“Wait…didn’t I ask him to date me already?” Akaashi wondered out-loud, spinning around to pace again. “No, I didn’t, but I basically said we were about to. Well, if we’re technically almost dating, then I should call, right? It would be rude not to call.”

When Akaashi stopped a second time, reason told him it was crazy to call Bokuto when he was so obviously _not_ able to handle seeing him alone. It was settled, that Keiji wouldn’t reach out to Koutarou unless Tetsu asked him to, just to maintain what little dignity he had left after last night’s…episode. The ballerina was laughing at himself as he went downstairs to pour a glass of wine—that unsteady resolve didn’t last five-minutes before the option of calling Bokuto was back on the table, once Akaashi remembered how his ex had held his face so gently and kissed him with such passion…

“I can’t resist him anymore,” Keiji huffed to himself, sliding his arms down the table until his head was slumped against the cool granite surface. “Not after seven years of him being away. _Ughhhh_ —why is this happening to me?”

The ballerina nearly jumped out of his skin when his cell phone began ringing—and his soul nearly flew from his body when he saw who the caller was: Bokuto.

_Don’t answer, don’t answer…_

_“Hey hey hey, Akaashi!”_ Koutarou cheered when Akaashi’s finger slipped.

_Fuck._

“Hello, Bokuto-san.” Keiji’s voice cracked, and he hurriedly cleared his throat and continued. “Um…how are you?”

_“Good! Just finishing up at the cart. I was wondering what you and Tetsu-chan were up to tonight?”_

“He’s actually sleeping over at a friend’s house tonight,” Akaashi explained, nervously picking at a string on his sweater. “Um, Bokuto…I was just wondering, if you didn’t have other plans, if you wanted to come over and…talk?”

 _Talk my ass_ , a voice laughed in his head.

 _“Really?! I mean—yeah, of course! Absolutely!”_ Bokuto happily agreed. _“I’ll come over as soon as I’m done here.”_

“Okay!” _Way too eager. What the hell is wrong with me?_ “I’ll see you then.”

_“Okay, see you in a bit!”_

Akaashi sighed at himself and let his head drop back down to the table. There was no way he could do this, especially not after last night. As furious as he was with his ex, Keiji couldn’t forget those four peaceful years they spent together, holding hands, talking about nothing, dreaming about their future, having fun every chance they got…he couldn’t forget the way they touched, their first kiss, every kiss after, the secret touches in alleyways, every time they snuck away from their friends because they just couldn’t get enough of each other—yeah. Akaashi wanted that life again, with Tetsu and Bokuto, living happily ever after. He didn’t know if it was possible after what happened between them, but after two more glasses of wine, the ballerina figured it was worth a good shot.

“Should I change clothes?” Keiji wondered, peering down at his sweater and leggings with judgement. “No, no…don’t be ridiculous. This isn’t a date. I look fine…”

Another ten-minutes passed with Akaashi going back and forth between changing, and suddenly the doorbell was ringing, signaling that Bokuto had already arrived; with anxiety in his chest, Keiji swallowed and slowly made his way to the door, opening it after he peeked through the peephole. There was Bokuto Koutarou, the love and pain of his life slightly disheveled looking with his loose-fitting jeans, black boots and a dark t-shirt clinging to his chest and thick biceps oh so perfectly. How was it humanly possible to look this good? Akaashi didn’t understand, brain short-circuiting as Bokuto greeted him happily, unaware that his appearance was causing such a fuss.

“Hey! Sorry I’m so late, but this old lady came to the stand last minute, so I had to fix something up for her quick…um, Akaashi?”

“Huh?”

Bokuto ducked his head down to meet Akaashi’s eyes, giving him a concerned look when it took a long second for the ballerina to blink.

“Are you okay?” Koutarou asked.

Keiji’s mouth was already half-open, and he was about to reply when he spotted something on the street behind Bokuto; it was a motorcycle, a rather old one, though it had new tires and a shiny red paintjob like someone had recently been working on it. Bokuto’s friend Saruki used to have one back in the day, and he let them ride on it from time to time—Akaashi loved motorcycles because they were dangerous, and because he had a perfectly good excuse to wrap his arms around Bokuto’s muscular torso. He should have been watching out the window to see Koutarou drive up on it…the imagination and memories could only do so much. Keiji had enough of remembering.

“Oh, you’re looking at my bike! Yeah, I finally fixed that bad boy up; it’s a 1982 Kawasaki GPZ 1100, kind of like the one Saruki had. I think I have a knack for taking old bikes and—”

If Bokuto hadn’t had as good of balance as he did, he and Akaashi definitely would have went tumbling off the front steps and onto the concrete path with the way Keiji flung himself at the other man, crashing their lips together roughly. Koutarou caught him with his hands, steadying their stance before he began kissing back, taken-aback but none-the-less pleased—Akaashi couldn’t stop himself from pushing further into their kisses, movements frantic and feverish as he began pulling Bokuto back towards the door, yanking him inside without breaking apart for even a second.

Almost immediately Keiji found himself growing hard underneath Koutarou’s touches, years-worth of pining and loneliness and _frustration_ exploding after one kiss; god, Akaashi had missed this, missed how easily Bokuto was able to get his heart racing, missed how much passion they had for each other even after seven-years of being apart. The ex-hitman apparently thought the same, nipping and licking and doing anything he could to Akaashi, bumping into a table and frame as they stumbled through the entryway of the house. Things had never been this way with Shirabu, not even remotely close, but all other men may as well have not even existed once Bokuto put his large hands under Keiji’s thighs and lifted him up against the wall. In the seconds their mouths were apart, Koutarou tried to reason with his ex.

“Ah—Akaashi, I thought you said—”

“I know,” Keiji huffed back, pressing their lips together again while wrapping his arms around Bokuto’s shoulders. “Don’t complain.”

“ _Mmm_.”

Akaashi gasped when Koutarou finally pushed their hips together, mashing his groin against the ballerina’s so he knew how hard he already was; neither man wanted to break apart to tease each other, too focused on devouring their lips and fondling every part of their bodies. Akaashi could feel butterflies madly fluttering around inside his stomach when Bokuto’s hips slowly humped against his own, pushing him into the wall and yanking a gasp from his lips as his neck instinctively curved to throw his head back.

“Where’s the bedroom?” Bokuto asked in a low, husky voice Keiji missed _so much_.

“Up—Upstairs,” He answered weakly, nails digging into Koutarou’s shirt. “First door on the right.”

Akaashi knew his ex was littering hickies all over his neck, but he no longer cared about that or anything, really, whimpering and gasping endlessly as Bokuto carried him up the stairs like a knight in shining armor. Only when he set Keiji down did they split apart, furiously stripping off their clothes without having to que the other—their dark gazes momentarily broke to scan over the other’s body, swirling with energy and anticipation. Bokuto hadn’t lost a single bit of his muscle tone, if anything, he had built on it even more, triceps and chest solid, toned, lightly tanned skin trailing down to his thin happy trail. Even his navel was toned, making Akaashi swallow hungrily and want to pull Bokuto’s briefs down right there and then.

On the other end, Koutarou was having a small panic attack over how muscular _Akaashi_ had become over the years, shocked when he saw the rippling torso muscles that had been hiding under his ex’s sweater. His legs had always been crazy beautiful, but they were even more so now, defined and long and just as athletic as Bokuto remembered. When the hitman found himself being pushed onto the large bed and straddled with those sinful thighs, he was sure he had never been more relieved in his life.

_Yup. He’s still my Keiji._

The pair sat there together, panting heavily and staring loving daggers at each other, Bokuto’s hands clasped to Akaashi’s slim waist as a silent question hovered in the air.

“Do you want to…?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Akaashi pleaded desperately. “Yes, yes, _yes_ …”

Koutarou didn’t need a second confirmation. He had waited too long for this, couldn’t wait any longer now that he finally had Keiji back in his grasp. Akaashi let him turn them over, tugging on Bokuto’s hair when their lips met again; they kissed for what seemed like forever, familiarizing themselves with the other’s movements and tastes once more. How many nights had they both stayed up late fantasizing about this moment? When Akaashi was with Shirabu, he couldn’t think of an intimate occasion where he hadn’t been picturing his ex. That was the only way he could ever get aroused—as much as Akaashi tried to convince himself otherwise, he knew, deep down, that Bokuto Koutarou would be the only man for him. No matter how much the truth hurt, it was certain.

In the midst of his thoughts, Akaashi barely realized Bokuto had stopped kissing his lips and had been moving downward, nibbling at him here and there until he made it to Keiji’s briefs, sliding them off and admiring the ballerina’s legs all the way. His playful yellow eyes were a deep gold color, now, locking with Keiji’s before he suddenly flipped him onto his stomach and sunk his fingers into Akaashi’s thighs, pulling them apart—the sensation of having a tongue up his ass for the first time in seven years made Keiji cry out loudly and dig his own claws into a nearby pillow.

“Boku-tooo…wait—d-don’t…”

Koutarou tightened his grip on Akaashi’s thighs and continued eating him out for an excruciating five-minutes, only stopping when his ex began whining and grabbed at Bokuto, wanting him to come back up where he was; Bokuto only complied because he was a sucker for Keiji when he whined, licking his lips like a starving animal as the ballerina flipped onto his back, staring up with his flushed face, teary eyes and agape lips. These were the kinds of mental pictures that kept Koutarou sane during his prison stint. They were also the kind that tortured him, knowing he might not ever get to see Akaashi as such again…but thankfully, Keiji had missed him just as much, and was now letting him create a new memory of them.

“Please, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi begged in a raspy voice. “I need to feel you again. _Please_.”

Bokuto stared at Keiji in wonder, then forced a nod and reached over to dig around in the night stand’s second drawer—the lube and condoms were there, just like always, and the fish fryer gave a quick smile to himself before ripping one open and quickly sliding it over his cock. He wasn’t surprised it had only taken Akaashi a few minutes to get him this hard; if he could do it back in the day, when they were younger, it was probably even easier now, after seven years of nothingness. Akaashi’s cock was leaking just as much with only the anal stimulation, but Bokuto didn’t worry himself with wondering when the last time his ex had sex was. They were together right now, after being apart, worlds away for so long, and there was no time to waste. As their quiet breaths filled the room, Keiji held himself open, watching Bokuto align himself up, hesitating only a second before slowly sinking in.

The relief Koutarou felt was indescribable. His eyes fluttered shut as a deep groan left his lips, and he found himself going back several years, one of the last times he and Keiji had been together before he was arrested.

_“How was that? You aren’t hurt or anything, are you?”_

_Akaashi gave Bokuto a loose smile from where he was sprawled out on the bed like some Greek goddess, playing with a string he found on a pillow._

_“No, Bokuto-san. I’m perfectly fine.”_

_“Are you sure?” Koutarou clarified one last time, plopping down on the bed with him. “I got a little worried when your legs started to shake…”_

_“Well, that’s what happens when bad boys get punished.”_

_Bokuto grinned and wrapped Akaashi up in a hug, laughing when the other tried to squirm from his grip as they rolled around on the bed like two kids. When they finally stopped, Keiji was underneath him, laughing softly at their antics and admiring how protected he felt whenever Koutarou hovered over him like this; hell, he even felt protected when he convinced Bokuto to bend him over his knee and spank the hell out of his ass. The flesh would be sore tomorrow, but Akaashi thought having those marks was sexy. That way, Bokuto was with him all the time, even when he wasn’t around._

_“Do you want to marry me someday, Bokuto-san?” Keiji asked curiously._

_“Duh!” Koutarou agreed, eyes lighting up. “I’ll marry you right now if you want!”_

_“Maybe another day. When we’re older, when I’m signed to a ballet company…that would be nice, don’t you think?”_

_Akaashi never tired of seeing Bokuto shoot that loving grin at him, complying when he was gently kissed, warm lips moving against his in a rhythm all their own._

_“Don’t worry, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto assured him. “Even if we never get married, I’ll always be by your side. Promise!”_

Bokuto may have broken that promise a thousand times, but that was never going to happen again. Now, he had no one to stand in his way, no one to frame him or betray him—he was going to make a new promise to Keiji, and he would keep that promise even if Akaashi still hated him, even if they didn’t get back together.

Even if it killed him, Bokuto would keep that promise.

“ _Sniff_ … _sniff_ …”

Koutarou’s eyes opened, quickly discovering that the origin of the sound was coming from _Akaashi_ —he was crying, eyelids getting red and teeth biting into his bottom lip, trying to shut himself up. Horror quickly consumed Bokuto, who sat up further on his elbows but kept his hips deathly still, in case he was hurting Akaashi.

“Keiji?” He asked in alarm, heart skipping a panicked beat. “What’s wrong?! Does it hurt? Do you want me to take it out?”

“No!” Akaashi whimpered, using his legs to keep Bokuto inside him as he went to lean back. “N-No, don’t—I’m—I’m fine, just…keep going…”

“I can’t. You have to tell me what’s wrong.”

Keiji’s eyes clamped shut again, tears taking over as he succumbed to his silent suffering; Bokuto used one hand to gently cup his face, desperate to get to the bottom of this so he could help. He figured it had something to do with nerves or anxiety, maybe because Akaashi had a kid and was feeling insecure about how he felt and looked down there—whatever the issue, Koutarou was bound and determined to help. He would do _anything_ to take away the pain, even if it meant never having sex again.

“Akaashi. It’s okay if you don’t want to keep going,” Bokuto cooed in a gentle voice. “I know it’s been a long time for me, and maybe it has been for you, too, so if it hurts and you have to stop—”

“No,” Keiji shook his head adamantly, more tears gliding onto his cheeks. “T-That’s not it.”

Koutarou waited patiently, keeping silent as Akaashi tried collecting himself enough to explain what he was feeling. He sniffled for another minute, swallowing down a hurricane of tears, but just as Bokuto thought he might be okay, the ballerina’s expression shattered completely.

“I just missed you so much!”

Sobs and aching whimpers flew from Akaashi’s mouth as he covered his face, crying into his hands, unable to stop the pounding pain in his chest. Konoha had once told him it wasn’t possible to die of a broken heart, and perhaps he had been right, but Keiji was certain no feeling was worse than whatever bout of nostalgia and longing he was feeling at this moment. Bokuto could do nothing but stare, feeling cupids tugging at the strings of his own heart when Akaashi tearfully began confessing to him.

“You were g-one for so long, just…j-just like that, a-and I _missed you_ ,” Keiji explained through sobs, chest heaving with exertion. “I missed you…I missed you, Bokuto-san…I wa-nted to see you, and talk to you a-and _be_ with you. I needed you so badly, b-ut you were just _gone_.”

“Kaashi…”

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry I never visited you, or wrote you, or just—called you, even once—”

“Shhh…it’s okay, it’s okay…”

Bokuto managed to pry Akaashi’s hands away from his face, revealing the heartbroken expression and guilty blue eyes filtering tear after tear out; how long had Keiji been holding these emotions in? Since his boyfriend was sentenced to seven years in prison? Since he had Tetsurou? Konoha had to have known about his guilt, being as they were still best friends, but it didn’t seem like these words had ever been said out-loud before. Akaashi’s pain was real and raw, showcased in his hiccupping cries and glossy eyes—it was unbearable to think he had been hiding this agony for so long, but this allowed Bokuto to finally get some things off his chest, as well.

“I missed you, too, Keiji,” He whispered lovingly. “More than you can ever know. Do you know how many times I jerked off in prison to the image of you? Not even you being sexy—just you sitting on the couch with drool on your cheek, or that time when you ate an entire bowl of watermelon and threw up in the sink.”

Akaashi didn’t smile, but a short laugh escaped between cries.

“Not my proudest fap, I’ll admit. I think it was just because your eyes were watering and it reminded me of when you used to—”

“Stop talking,” Akaashi sniffled, finally letting his lips creep into a smile. “You’re reminding me what a dumbass you are.”

Bokuto grinned and leaned down, slowly and carefully molding their lips together, just enough where Keiji would feel how much he meant to the ex-hitman. Their faces remained close together as Koutarou whispered lowly.

“I’m here, Keiji. We’re together, right here, right now.”

The ballerina nodded certainly. All it ever took was a few words from Bokuto to reassure him.

“Do you want me to move?”

“Yes…please.”

Akaashi was tugged back to reality when Bokuto pulled his hips back, sliding his dick out nearly all the way before sinking back in deeply; it still felt perfect inside, tight and unbearably hot—Koutarou really hoped Keiji wasn’t worrying about anything, and maybe he would claim it only felt good because it had been so long, but Bokuto was certain nothing had changed, even after Akaashi gave birth. His first thrusts were slow, deliberately pushing against every sweet spot he knew the dark-haired man had, filling him to the absolute brim as their bodies slid against each other. Keiji’s tears dried quickly, taken over by passion and need, allowing him to wrap his legs around Bokuto’s powerful hips and slide his arms around the fish fryer’s broad shoulders.

“ _Faster_ ,” Akaashi breathed. “I need to feel all of you.”

Keiji gave a sharp moan when Bokuto pumped his hips faster, using all his frustration and all his undying affection to give Akaashi whatever he wanted. Their lips found each other again, kissing turning sloppy and needy as Koutarou’s movements kept getting stronger and stronger. Now that he had Akaashi again, the ex-hitman couldn’t get enough, groping and kissing and fucking Keiji like their lives depended on it. As he left more marks on the ballerina’s pale throat, Bokuto’s fingers teased and pinched his nipples, earning a smothered moan from the recipient; he tried to embed that noise in his mind forever, although he knew he wouldn’t need memories anymore—he was never leaving Akaashi ever again. Not after this night.

“Turn around,” Koutarou growled, momentarily pulling out of Akaashi, who whined in annoyance but shakily crawled onto his knees. “Hold on.”

Keiji grabbed the bed frame just as Bokuto entered him in one stroke, moaning in satisfaction and holding onto Akaashi’s hips as tightly as he could.

“Ah! Bokuto, Bokuto—”

“ _Kaashi_ …”

They could have been doing this every day. If Koutarou hadn’t been framed all those years before, he and Akaashi would have bought this house together and celebrated by fucking on every piece of furniture and inside every single room, and maybe even on the balcony, as long as no paparazzi were around. Bokuto thought he might have impregnated Akaashi on the couch downstairs after a long day of work at a motor shop, maybe, and he would make love to the ballerina again after finding out they were expecting. After years of not hugging, not kissing, not even _talking_ , Bokuto’s imagination was letting itself run wild.

Bokuto knew he wasn’t going to last long, not after such a long dry spell, so he reached below his lover and began pumping Akaashi’s cock, getting a startled cry in response.

“Bok—”

“Say it,” The hitman groaned, fingers tightening around Akaashi’s sensitive tip and causing a splurge of precum to pool out. “Say my name.”

“ _Koutarou_ ,” Keiji gasped like a final prayer to a shrine. “Koutarou, Koutarou, Koutarou.”

The mantra triggered a series of powerful thrusts, launching Akaashi further up the bed with each push; it was perfectly clear that Bokuto had aged well, still just as powerful and even more athletic than when he was younger. He knew from which angles to pulverize Keiji’s insides with, constantly stimulating the outside ring and slamming his thighs against Akaashi’s ass, as if he were trying to ruin him for all other men. Between that, the emotional explosion and the agonizingly delicious fingers rolling over his cock without missing a beat, Keiji was nearly at his limit.

“Ko,” Akaashi cried, squeezing his eyes shut as his fingers tightened around the headboard. “I—I’m—”

“I know,” Bokuto grunted. “Me too.”

“Can we—together, please…”

 _I love this man a little too much_ , Bokuto thought through a haze, sighing and resting his head against Akaashi’s shoulder blade. _How did I ever survive seven years without him…_

Koutarou willed his hips to move even faster, pounding into Keiji just like before, just how he loved it; Akaashi began spewing whines in between moans, and his stomach muscles began contracting even tighter, signaling his release was near. Bokuto ignored the burning in his own groin and fucked into the ballerina harder, focusing his hand on rubbing the tip of Akaashi’s cock until it began consistently spilling out a clear liquid.

“Ah!” Keiji cried out, eyes pinching shut and body locking up. “Ahh, Ko, Ko!”

Akaashi let out a feminine whine, cum spraying through Bokuto’s fingers and onto the bedsheets below; his thrashing orgasm interrupted the rhythm of Koutarou’s thrusts, clamping down on just the right spot and forcing thick ropes of cum out into the condom. Akaashi’s cries were never-ending, jumping pitches and stuttering until his arms gave out, held up only by Bokuto’s strong hands still holding onto his shaking hips while the hitman groaned through his finish.

“Uh, uh, uh…K-aashi… _uhhh_ …”

Koutarou kept his swollen member inside as the pair sunk into the mattress together, barely catching their breath before Akaashi turned his head to kiss Bokuto again. Their movements were slower, but still passionate as their bodies came down from the high, the ballerina’s cock quivering when it brushed against the messy sheets. It had been so long since either of them felt this type of satisfaction, since anyone had known their bodies well enough to give them exactly what they wanted…Keiji had missed feeling this safe—when he first left Shirabu, and he and Tetsu were alone in the world, he had never felt more vulnerable, more afraid of the world. So many times he had wished Bokuto were here to lean over him like this, to make him feel invincible with just his presence.

The wait had been long, but finally, Akaashi was able to feel that way again.

When they pulled away, soft panting all that could be heard in the room, Bokuto had half the mind to tell Akaashi how much he loved him, but he held it back. There would be time for that later. He would make sure of it.

After their long-awaited consummation, Akaashi and Bokuto laid in bed together for hours—they didn’t have sex again, but spent their time quietly touching each other and tracing over body parts, appreciating what they had been too horny to notice earlier. Koutarou had retrieved his clothing from the hallway (thinking he might be kicked out any minute), but was happy to give Akaashi his t-shirt when he asked—as if he could ever refuse the option to see this hot-ass ballerina wearing his clothes. Since his shirt was taken, Bokuto made Keiji laugh by putting on his white sweater, accidentally stretching out the neck hole and spending ten-minutes defending his large head. After that, the pair fell into silence, laying under the dim lamp light and making up for lost time.

Mostly, they looked into each other’s eyes.

“Bokuto,” Keiji murmured. They hadn’t broken eye-contact in over fifteen-minutes.

“Hm?”

“Can we date again?”

Bokuto hadn’t been expecting that question, cheeks immediately enflamed with blush as he sputtered over himself, nodding furiously.

“Um—u-uh, yeah, sure! Whatever you want!”

Akaashi gave a low laugh and fully opened his eyes just to take-in the beautiful sight of Bokuto blushing. He swung his thigh over the fish fryer’s and inched even closer, absolutely knowing that he was driving Koutarou crazy by doing so.

“As nice as that was, I don’t think I’ll be making a habit of it right away…we should probably take things slow. That way we don’t confuse Tetsu,” Keiji said.

 _Jeez…am I going to be able to do that after what we just did?_ Bokuto asked himself, taking Keiji’s hands in his own and kissing them softly. _This man doesn’t know how much power he has over me. Or maybe he does._

“Agreed…but on one condition,” Bokuto started. “I’ll forgo all kissing and sex if it means I can hold your hand once in a while.”

Just as Akaashi had Bokuto wrapped around his finger, the goofy fish fryer also had his hold on Keiji, who sighed at the sweet request and leaned forward to softly plant a kiss on Bokuto’s nose.

“I’ll allow that,” He agreed in a hum. “But we’ll have to be careful. Tetsu doesn’t show it, but he’s very protective of what we have—I’m sure he’ll be a little conflicted if he catches us.”

“Yeah, I get it—that was just some _really_ great make-up sex.”

Akaashi rolled his eyes but cuddled up against Bokuto the next moment, letting him wrap a strong arm around him as they laid together peacefully. This was all Bokuto needed out of life: soft, domestic bliss, lying in bed with his lover after making love like animals in heat, cuddled up in each other’s clothes, staring deep into each other’s eyes without worrying what tomorrow would bring. Even though this was the first time Koutarou had experienced such a feeling, he was sure that was all he would ever want.

“So we’re dating,” Bokuto clarified out-loud. Akaashi could feel the bright smile through his words, listening to his voice rumble through his warm chest.

“We are.”

“ _Awesome!_ ”

~~~*~~~

The morning after felt like a dream to Akaashi. He was sure he had imagined last night and honestly thought he would wake-up in bed alone—but Bokuto Koutarou was there, still wearing his sweater, drooling in his sleep with one arm above his head and the other limply lying across Keiji. Akaashi managed to let out a few more tears before the fish fryer woke up, rolling over and immediately tangling them up in the sheets. From that point on, through the showering, getting dressed and drinking coffee, the reunited lovers couldn’t seem to keep their hands to themselves.

“You need to control your urges,” Akaashi said, smacking Bokuto’s lingering hand away from his ass as they headed out to the car. “Tetsu’s going to know what’s up if you keep fondling me like that.”

“Aww, come on, ‘Kaashi, just a little touch?!”

“No.”

Bokuto pouted as he sat in the passenger seat, reminding Akaashi a little too much of Tetsu. They were going to pick him up from Kenma’s right now, probably so he could spend the rest of his day napping; when they stopped at the Kozume house, Bokuto started to fidget nervously, glancing at the boys sitting on the front porch. Tetsu waved wildly and began gathering his things.

“Are you sure I should be here? Won’t Tetsu know we’re, you know…up to something?”

“It’ll be fine,” Akaashi waved off, unbuckling his seatbelt. “…Probably.”

Koutarou tried not to be nervous as he followed Keiji to the front yard, where Tetsu met them halfway and excitedly looked up at Bokuto, confused but happy to see him. His hair was wilder than ever, mashed down on one side and tangled on the other with what looked like some kind of food, perhaps, stuck to his bangs. _They must have had a fun night._

“Fish fryer-san! Is that you?”

“Sure is, buddy!”

“Hi sweetheart,” Akaashi greeted, letting his son hug his leg snugly and peer up at him curiously.

“Hi Mommy! I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

“Did you two have a slumber party?” Tetsu asked straight-forward, peering over at Bokuto.

Koutarou nearly yelped, staring wildly at Keiji, who gave him a calm look and smiled at his son innocently. _What he did last night definitely wasn’t innocent,_ the hitman remembered. _This damn kid will probably investigate when he gets home._

“No, sweetie. I just thought Bokuto-san might like to have brunch with us, that’s all.”

“ _Really?_ ” The idea that his mother had changed his mind about his old boyfriend was astounding to the six-year-old; usually Akaashi didn’t change his mind about anything.

“Mhm.”

“Well—okay!” Tetsurou agreed excitedly, handing Akaashi his bag and sprinting to the car. “Let’s go, let’s go!”

Tetsurou talked all about his sleepover on the way back, explaining the depth of his friendship with Kenma to Bokuto, who listened eagerly, laughing and teasing the boy like they had known each other forever. Akaashi stayed quiet most of the time, content to listen and smile to their loud voices fill the entire car, continuing even as they entered the house and began cooking brunch. (Well, Bokuto was doing most of the cooking, but Akaashi was assisting.)

“And then, just as we were about to sleep, I whispered ‘peepee’ in Kenma’s ear!” Tetsurou cackled, bending over with the force of his laugh.

“Jeez, you’re so wound up,” Akaashi commented as Bokuto nearly spit out his drink. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Yeah, Mom, it was a _sleep_ over!”

“Wonder who he gets _that_ sass from?” Koutarou smirked, nudging Keiji’s arm playfully.

“Hard to say…”

“Mom, Mom, can I stir the eggies?!”

“If you calm down, yes.”

“Okay, okay, okay.” Tetsurou ran around the island and heaved himself up onto a chair—he would have gone flying if Bokuto hadn’t reached out and grabbed onto the chair’s leg. “Can you teach me how, please?”

“I’m not the best at it…Bokuto-san, could you help him?” Keiji suggested (partially out of guilt.)

Koutarou seemed momentarily surprised, given how protective Akaashi had been of his son on other occasions, but then smiled brightly and stepped up beside Tetsu, handing him the whisk and placing his hand over the boy’s smaller ones.

“Alright—we’re going to start moving our hands in a quick circle, so we can beat the eggs down, okay?”

“Yeah!”

Something made Akaashi stop when he saw Bokuto standing behind Tetsu, helping him whip the eggs up and smiling and encouraging him…Tetsurou was laughing again because he had spilled egg all over the counter, grinning up at Bokuto when he made a stupid joke. For a moment, Keiji felt like he was seeing this scene from third person, like a snapshot in a movie about his life—here he was, standing with his ex boyfriend, current boyfriend, his adorable son, neither of whom knew the depth of their relationship. To think, this arrangement had been brought on by Tetsu scamming another fish cart for a free meal…

Knowing now that it was very possible for this domestic scene to become permanent, Akaashi felt a huge amount of pressure to reveal his secret to Bokuto.

 _But…how would he react?_ The ballerina wondered, sitting down beside his son to eat their brunch. _After last night, I don’t know how he would feel about it…he might get mad. He will get mad. I would be mad, too, for obvious reasons. But he’s probably already suspicious, so at least it won’t completely blindside him._

“Have some eggies, Mom!”

“Thank you.” Akaashi nearly dropped his plate when his son was dishing out eggs onto it, catching the china just in the knick of time.

“Looks like your mom was the one who had a long night, huh, Tetsu-chan?” Bokuto teased, getting a kick underneath the table. “Ow!”

“How’s the sausage, Tetsurou?” Akaashi redirected, though his mind wasn’t in the conversation.

“Yummy!” The boy nodded happily, swallowing his bite. “What did you do when I was gone, Mommy?”

“Oh, well…nothing too interesting. I just watched movies all night.”

“Pft,” Bokuto snorted into his coffee. “Yeah…rated _R_ movies…”

Tetsu giggled when a piece of sausage somehow ended up in Koutarou’s mug. Bokuto noticed Akaashi’s mental distance but didn’t comment, figuring he was just thinking about last night; Tetsurou started getting very sleepy in the middle of their meal, bobbing his head and hardly touching his food, but he was stubbornly refusing to admit his fatigue.

“Tetsu, baby, did you get _any_ sleep?” His mother suggested when some of Tetsurou’s hair managed to get into his syrup. “You look tired.”

“I’m not.” That answer was quickly followed by Tetsu tiredly running a hand through his hair and saying “Well, I’m gunna go take a nap on the couch. Goodnight, Bokuto-san.”

Koutarou snorted and said goodnight, watching the boy scurry out of the room and into the living room, where he plopped himself onto the couch and was asleep within a minute.

“Stubborn boy,” Akaashi murmured to himself, clearing the dishes away. “Well, at least he’ll get some rest, finally.”

“Can I say something, ‘Kaashi?”

Keiji glanced back at Bokuto, who was leaning against the island with a thoughtful look on his face. He was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, looking as disheveled and as delicious as he did last night, but Akaashi quickly pushed those thoughts away before his body could react and tempt him.

“…Okay.”

“I’m still in love with you,” Bokuto said as-a-matter-of-factly, like those words wouldn’t stop Akaashi’s heart. “Have been, all this time. I don’t expect you to feel the same way, but I just wanted you to know that, once and for all.”

There was really nothing Keiji could say to that. Well, he could have returned the affection, but he was too scared to admit it. He wondered what had brought the subject to Koutarou’s mind, but since he was unable to speak at all, didn’t ask, and instead nodded in understanding.

“That being said…can I ask you a question?”

Akaashi nodded again, and Bokuto stepped closer to him.

“Tetsu’s father—is he still in the picture?”

A blank stare was the only answer the hitman received for a solid minute. Akaashi blinked once, then again, struck dumb by what he was hearing—Bokuto was asking…if Tetsu’s _father_ was still around? He didn’t…he didn’t even _suspect_ …? That wasn’t possible. The timeline had to have made sense to him at some point, right? He couldn’t have thought it was a coincidence. Was it possible for someone so smart to be such a dumbass? The ballerina was so shocked by his boyfriend’s lack of awareness he could only stutter out an honest reply.

“…Not…exactly,” Akaashi forced out.

“I see. Well…I know it’s not my place, and I’m not trying to replace him or anything, but…do you need some help with Tetsu?” Bokuto asked honestly. Akaashi was still staring at him with that blank expression. “I mean, kids are a handful, and I _totally_ get that we’re taking it slow, but if you need me to step in and help with Tetsurou financial-wise, I’m totally down for that! Obviously you don’t have money problems, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with me paying for things once a while, that way you ca—”

“Bokuto,” Keiji interrupted suddenly.

“Yeah?”

“You’re an _idiot_.”

“Wah?!” The fish fryer exclaimed in shock. “That’s so mean, ‘Kaashi! Why am I an idiot?!”

Akaashi swallowed nervously. He never thought he would ever have to explain this, but if Koutarou really was that oblivious…

“Tetsurou is _your_ son, Bokuto.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chap is 21 pages and it's still shit to me, lol. but feel free to leave a nice comment!  
> In other news, i cut 20ish inches off my hair and i feel liberated


	4. "i wish i could"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall this fic now has [ART](https://twitter.com/gnappapon/status/1293471016270864385) I commissioned by @gnappapon-art on Twitter! Go check it out for a nice view of Bokuto's ass and the kitchen scene from chapter 2 xx

_“I wish I could meet you in my dreams_

_And love you again_

_Just like this”_

It was Bokuto’s turn to stare blankly, world stopping in its spin as Keiji’s last words echoed through his head: Tetsurou is _your_ son. Tetsurou is _your_ son. What did that mean? Did it mean…what Koutarou _thought_ it meant? That wasn’t possible. He must have heard Akaashi wrong. But Akaashi always meant whatever he said—he couldn’t have mixed that truth up with another.

_Tetsurou is your son._

_Tetsurou is your son._

“…What?” Bokuto breathed.

Everything was confirmed by the way Akaashi’s dark blue eyes suddenly filled with moisture. That wasn’t enough for Koutarou, who desperately needed to hear it said out-loud one more time.

“Ke-iji. _What?_ ”

The ex-hitman was terrified to get closer, so Akaashi did it for him, slowly stepping towards him while silently getting his words together; even though the ballerina never expected Bokuto Koutarou to be involved in his life ever again, he had imagined this scene a hundred different times with a million different outcomes. Despite having a script prepared, the words struggled to come out of his mouth, trapped somewhere deep inside his chest as he remembered the day he found out he was pregnant with Tetsurou—after throwing up during dance class Konoha suggested he go buy some ginger ale and rice. While Akaashi was at the store, he ended-up grabbing a pregnancy test just in case…

“When you were arrested in March…I was already about one month pregnant,” Keiji confessed, dropping his gaze. “I just found out a few days before our date; I was going to tell you, but then...the cops came.”

Bokuto didn’t seem to be listening, eyes locked onto Akaashi but glancing right through him, but the ballerina knew he was hearing him. Those high grey eyebrows were immobile, frozen in one shocked expression as Keiji told his story.

“I…I didn’t want to tell you after the fact because I thought you were guilty. I didn’t want some murdering yakuza member involved in my son’s life, so I just…kept it to myself. Kept Tetsu to myself.”

The silence and tension in the air could be cut with a katana, and Akaashi didn’t think the atmosphere between them had ever been so serious before. It was scaring him, seeing Bokuto so emotionless—he didn’t know how the fish fryer would react. What if prison had made him an angry abuser? What if he kidnapped Tetsu for himself? The longer the silence stretched, the more anxious Keiji became, and he hurried to offer his apology before the situation escalated: he learned this lesson from being with Shirabu for those horrible two years…

“I know it—it probably doesn’t mean much, but I’m—I’m _sorry_ , Bokuto-san,” Akaashi swallowed tightly. “If I had known you were innocent back then, I would have told you right away, and I would have involved you in Tetsu’s life, but…I _didn’t_ know.”

Finally, _finally_ , Bokuto came back to reality, blinking a few times before he slowly turned around and walked into the living room; Akaashi hurried after him, terrified at what would transpire if everything he heard about his ex turned out to be horribly true, rushing up on the scene where Tetsurou was still sleeping soundly on the couch, face mushed into the nearest pillow with a knit blanket twisted around his torso. Koutarou stopped in front of the boy, golden eyes now wide and alert as he fell onto his knees in front of the couch. Keiji held his breath, watching Bokuto investigate his young son.

 _Their_ young son.

Tetsurou’s overall appearance matched Akaashi’s nearly exactly; the slope of his jaw was sharp, just a bit wider than the ballerina’s, but their skin tones varied greatly, Tetsu’s a darker complexity than his mother’s. Their figures were the same, narrow waists leading down to athletic hips and long, slender legs. There was also their rounded noses, straight and ever-so-serious eyebrows with just a slight curve to their shape, lightening what would otherwise be an incredibly stern expression. There was the hair, of course, obsidian black and wild beyond the control of any hair product and expensive comb, sticking up straight in some places, curled and volumous on others. Despite all these obvious similarities, Bokuto couldn’t help but notice many features that did _not_ match Akaashi.

Firstly was Tetsurou’s shoulders, already taking on a much broader shape than Keiji’s. Secondly was his height, the six-year-old already hitting 4’1 and towering over his classmates, large hands adding to his increasingly fit appearance; there was a slight difference in the toning of his cheeks, slightly thicker than his mother’s delicate, hollowed ones. His expressions rarely matched Akaashi’s unless he was tired or being serious (which was rare), thin lips almost always caught in a crooked grin and eyebrows raised in triumph or humor. Suddenly, Bokuto could see himself in Tetsurou as Keiji probably had all these years with just the two of them.

Tetsurou felt a trembling hand touching his hair and peeled his tired eyes open just a bit. _Bokuto’s_ eyes. Sure, they had taken on Akaashi’s narrowed eyelids, dusty eyelashes and easily annoyed expression, but the color matched Koutarou’s without a doubt. His eyes were on Akaashi’s face, little boy staring up at the older man with sleep in his gaze.

_How could I not have seen it before?_

“Fish fryer-san,” Tetsurou murmured in acknowledgment. God, even his _voice_ was a mixture of Akaashi’s coolness and Bokuto’s playfulness. “Five more hours…”

Keiji saw his boyfriend’s eyes fill with tears even from where he was standing, hands folded together under his chin as Bokuto took his hand off Tetsurou’s head and stood up. The ballerina silently berated himself for ever thinking Bokuto would take his frustration out on a child—or Akaashi himself. That wasn’t him. Never had been. Even if he and Shirabu had turned out to be the same kind of criminal, they were nothing alike; maybe that’s why, after all these years, after now knowing Koutarou had killed many people during their time together, Akaashi was still in love with him. He was stupid to think he could marry some random “businessman,” live a simple life and forget about Bokuto entirely.

Once more, silence overcame the Akaashi household, Bokuto exiting the living room and beginning to pace back and forth, left and right and back again, all without saying a word or even looking in Keiji’s direction. His breathing was audible, now, as if the stun of finding out he was a father finally took its toll; to think, this day had started out so simple after such an emotionally relieving night…

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said, hoping to interrupt his inner-rambling. “Bokuto, why don’t we sit down for a while?”

The fish fryer either ignored Keiji or didn’t hear him, continuing to pace for a solid twenty-minutes without any sign he would be stopping. It felt like hours were flying by, but the afternoon sun was just rising, reaching its height and shimmering in through the ceiling sky window—it couldn’t have felt darker in the house to Akaashi, who could no longer take the stress of following Bokuto around and finally collapsed at the kitchen island. He leaned his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands, mind becoming too hysterical to think clearly. Of course Keiji hadn’t imagined this scene ended any other way, but after reuniting with Bokuto last night, after they had been so close after so _damn long_ , only to take this scary turn and end-up barreling down the highway in a high-speed chase…it was as if every wrong choice Akaashi had made in the last seven years was finally coming back to demand his apology.

“I’m sorry,” Keiji whispered brokenly into his palms. A few tears slipped from his eyes, falling onto the granite below. “I’m so sorry…”

Akaashi cried quietly to himself until two large hands suddenly encased his shoulders—he whipped around in alarm, teary eyes widening when he saw Koutarou himself standing there, peering down at him. The ballerina sighed in relief, though what he was feeling had absolutely nothing to do with relief, lowering his head once more and unable to resist placing his hands over Bokuto’s own. He still missed those hands every day, wanted to put them where they had been last night and kiss them endlessly…

“Y-You must hate me,” Akaashi sniffled, shaking his head at himself. “ _I_ would hate me.”

“Never,” Koutarou whispered, lips now right against Keiji’s temple. His words sounded just as torn, as tortured as his lover’s. “I understand. I know why you did it.”

That confession gave Keiji a moment of temporary liberation, and he found the courage to stand up and face Bokuto, who kept his grip secure on Akaashi’s shoulders.

“R-Really? You do?”

Koutarou nodded once, causing the ballerina to release a stressful sigh and let his head fall against the hitman’s chest; he could have stood there against him forever (or at least until Tetsu woke up), sinking into his warmth and forgiveness, but Bokuto’s next words shattered the fragile daydream Akaashi created.

“I understand,” Bokuto repeated. “But I have to go.”

All of a sudden, the fish fryer released Akaashi and was moving towards the front door—it took Keiji only a second before he responded in panic, running after Koutarou and grabbing onto his shirt just as he opened the door.

“W-Wait! Where—Where are you going?” Akaashi asked, voice jumping with terror. “You’re leaving?”

After just getting Bokuto back, Keiji couldn’t stand the thought of him running off again, leaving him and Tetsu behind, even after what had been revealed—he couldn’t bear to watch him leave. Not again. He couldn’t do another seven years of being a single parent. He couldn’t go another seven years without having Bokuto around to make him laugh and smile, to make him rip his hair out between he and Tetsurou’s shenanigans. His grip on Bokuto’s shirt was so tight his knuckles were turning white: if necessary, Akaashi was ready to fight Koutarou. Anything to get him to stay for good.

Koutarou considered the ballerina’s words for a tense moment, looking back and giving a slight shake of his head.

“I’m not leaving,” He clarified. Akaashi didn’t think he had ever heard him speak so softly. “I’m just…I need some time. To think about _this_.”

Keiji understood that. Of course he did, but he still didn’t want Bokuto to go off on his own.

“I need to think about Tetsu. Alone.”

Akaashi nodded again. He released Koutarou’s shirt and instead grabbed onto his hand, giving it a tight squeeze—it was a silent promise, a plea that Bokuto would come back to him. He _had_ to come back to them. Bokuto understood loud and clear.

The hitman returned Akaashi’s squeeze, then hopped on his motorcycle and drove away.

Bokuto didn’t know where he was going. He must have circled every street in Nekoma three times before changing directions and driving wherever, zipping through traffic, winding in and out until the sun went down, at which point Koutarou found himself on the highway heading out of Tokyo. His adrenaline was pumping, but he couldn’t figure out why—he didn’t question it, however, choosing to let his thoughts turn numb the longer he drove, the further out from the city he became. Eventually Bokuto found himself pulling over by a wooded area, letting his bike drop to the ground carelessly as he resumed pacing like he had been several hours before. His heart was beating at a drastic rate, loud and clear for him to listen to, undecided emotions battling for the top position in his thoughts.

“I’m a father,” He said out-loud, repeating it over and over and over again. “I’m a father…I’m a father…”

Bokuto felt like screaming. He felt like bursting into tears. For the seven years he was in prison, that entire time, he had unknowingly been the absent father figure in Tetsu’s life. That conniving, dorky and frighteningly intelligent boy was his son. His young son who Bokuto was supposed to care for, to protect and play with and do homework with—he never even got to change hundreds of diapers like fathers were supposed to. This new knowledge somehow made Koutarou’s prison sentence seem even worse, knowing he was oblivious to the role he could have been playing in Tetsurou’s life all that time…seven years wasted rotting away in a cell instead of waking up beside Akaashi and their child. Six birthdays missed, thousands of family game nights, hundreds of tickle fights and priceless giggling. All of this Bokuto had missed out on for seven _years_. It was hurting his head almost as much as it was hurting his heart.

 _“Why?”_ Koutarou asked himself angrily. “Why did they let me take the fall? Why would they ruin my life like that? Some fucking family we are!!!”

Bokuto kicked a nearby rock as fury took over, hating the Fukurodani clan, hating Komi, hating anyone involved that set him up and forced him to miss out on the first half of his son’s life, not to mention, took seven years off he and Akaashi’s relationship. It was infuriating to think the people he dedicated half his life to would throw him away so easily—Bokuto didn’t care how or why, if they did it for money or politics, but one day they were going to pay for what they did to him. Fukurodani was going to pay for betraying him.

But for tonight, the only person Bokuto wanted to pay was himself.

“ _Idiot_ ,” The hitman hissed at himself, rubbing a rough hand over his face. “You’re an _idiot_ , Bokuto…of course they sold you out…you’re a disposable assassin who would rather sit and watch his boyfriend dance on stage than move up in the ranks. How could you be so blind? …They were chewing you up from the very beginning, and you just let them. Stupid, stupid!”

Bokuto berated himself for several minutes before getting back on his bike, having nothing better to do than drive until he ended-up back in Tokyo; his fuel tank told him he was nearly out of gas, so the fish fryer stopped wherever he was and walked into a tiny 24/7 store. The attendant said nothing to the frighteningly stern man as he bought warm tea and a pack of cheap rice balls, sitting down at a window booth and staring mindlessly into the dark night.

Across the street there was a row of shops, all illuminated by bright neon signs hanging above. They were subconsciously familiar to Bokuto, and he stared at their vibrant hues silently and read off their titles without really reading their letters. _Bobo’s Laundry. Hao Diner. Ling’s. Ying-Yang Bao. Faust Smokes & Beer_. Their dim establishments were brightened by their electric signs, respected colors each shining down on the sidewalk below, greens and blues, purples and pinks, a lemon yellow and sunset orange. A rainbow of shades reflected in Bokuto’s eyes as he scanned over their lights, wondering nothing, beyond emotion and realism.

This quiet, nostalgic scene brought a sense of calm over Bokuto, as if transporting him into a different world than this one and allowing him to feel nothing: not his love for Akaashi, not his anger at Fukurodani, not even his sorrow over Tetsurou. He stared at _Ling’s_ neon pink sign until the word no longer made sense to him, only a familiar voice able to pull him back to reality.

“Look what the barn owl dragged in.”

Komi Haruki, executive of Fukurodani and head of the Komi family was sitting down across from Koutarou, smiling over at him slyly as he set his own items down.

“Hey, Komi.”

“You’re a little ways from Nekoma there, buddy. What gives? You tryna take back Fukurodani’s turf?”

“Huh?” Bokuto quirked his head to the side.

“What, you don’t recognize this place?” Komi asked. “You’re hurting my feelings, Bo.”

Bokuto finally took-in his surroundings, glancing around the tiny store and recognizing the navy blue theme, outdated refrigerators, rows upon rows of cigarettes and the dingy gray booths—he momentarily went back in time to the first year he and Komi met, when all the shorter man wore was tank-tops, cargo shorts and tattered flip flops. His hair was the same. Maybe a bit fuzzier. Right: this was the place where they had first met as kids, before they became oath brothers and before their friendship was torn apart by the clan itself.

“Wow,” Koutarou said in awe. “Time really stands still in this place, doesn’t it?”

“Seems to.”

Haruki began to open his snack, and Bokuto almost smiled when he saw it was nearly identical to his, save for black coffee instead of warm tea. Komi always said black coffee and rice balls were the best medicine for getting an ass-kicking—back then, he and Bokuto got their asses kicked a lot. Komi could never come up with any science to back-up his claim, but since Koutarou always felt better afterwards, he let it go.

“What’s an engaged yakuza leader doing at a shitty place like this, anyway?” Bokuto asked. “Shouldn’t you be home with Yukie? Date night or whatever?”

“She’s off at her bachelorette party,” Komi explained, smiling fondly. “Probably drinking shots and throwing dollars at a strip club right now.”

“Pft. Yeah. It’d be nice to grind on a guy over six-feet tall.”

Haruki kicked Bokuto under the table, trying not to laugh along with his old friend. The store went quiet for a few minutes, nothing but the sound of wrappers crunching and grown men munching filling the room; Komi had never known Bokuto to _ever_ be quiet, so the atmosphere didn’t last very long before he demanded an explanation for his friend’s somber attitude.

“What are _you_ doing here, Bokuto? I think Yukie at least pays you enough to buy some decent ramen down at _Tanaka’s_.”

Koutarou shrugged. Komi was annoyed with this reply and did what he always did when he needed information out of Bokuto—he leaned forward and stared at the fish fryer, not blinking, not saying a word until Koutarou finally noticed his annoying stance. It didn’t take a minute longer before Bokuto was sighing deeply, pushing his food aside so he could address what was bothering him. _Curse Komi and his annoying-ass fish eyes._

“Akaashi said you two talk once in a while,” He began slowly. “So that must mean you know.”

“Know what?”

Komi had gotten better at hiding his expressions since becoming a family leader. But Bokuto could still read him like a book, and knew he was trying to play dumb.

“…That Tetsurou is my son.”

Haruki’s eyebrow twitched, giving away the truth as he broke their eye-contact, glancing around the shop as if there was anything interesting to look at.

“So you do know,” Bokuto looked down, fidgeting with his empty wrapper. “Thanks for telling me.”

“Come on, Bo, you know that wasn’t my call,” Komi argued, sitting forward to proclaim his innocence. “Both Akaashi and I weren’t sure if you were innocent or not, so we decided to keep things quiet for a while.”

“ _We?_ You helped him decide that?”

“Of course I helped him,” Komi said obviously, sitting back against the booth. “We’re good friends too, you know.”

Bokuto wanted to be mad at him. He wanted to be mad at Akaashi, too, but he couldn’t find it in him to be upset anymore. It wasn’t their fault he lied about being a hitman. It wasn’t their fault he decided to work for Fukurodani in the first place. Bokuto knew, deep down, that Komi really didn’t have a choice, even if they _were_ oath brothers—to go up against the clan was a death sentence, not just for Komi, but probably for Yukie and maybe even Akaashi, too. There was no need to be mad at them for making such a decision. Since it had kept Tetsurou safe for this long, Bokuto had to be content.

The boys nibbled on their food for a few minutes, keeping their thoughts on hold. Komi didn’t want to argue with his best friend after not seeing him for seven years. Things hadn’t been the same around here since he went away, and Haruki was unconsciously desperate for any trace of normalcy.

“Thank you,” Bokuto mumbled through his bite. “For watching over Akaashi and Tetsu for all these years.”

“…Yeah. It’s the least I could do, after….you know,” Komi murmured just as lowly. “Leaving you to rot in prison for seven years.”

“I guess we’re even then, huh?”

“Yeah,” The shorter male almost smiled. “I guess so.”

Haruki stood up and gathered his trash, trying to keep his expression straight so Bokuto couldn’t read him anymore—but Bokuto could always read his best friend, and even though he got the feeling there was more to the story of him and Akaashi, he was too emotionally despondent to start that investigation tonight.

“Well, I better get going, before the boss catches me with you,” Komi explained.

“Sure, sure.”

Bokuto let him get to the entrance door before calling out his name.

“Komi.”

When Haruki looked back, Bokuto was approaching him and holding out his right hand, apparently for him to shake. He had never seen such a grateful, sincere expression on him before, and it startled him quite a bit.

“Thank you,” Koutarou repeated seriously. “For taking care of Akaashi and Tetsurou.”

It took Komi a moment to react, slowly inching his hand out to shake Bokuto’s rough one; half of him wanted to whip into their secret handshake from all those years before, but before he could even consider throwing all his dignity aside like that, Bokuto let go and brushed past him, exiting the store and hopping onto his motorcycle.

The morning sun was rising by the time Bokuto was a few blocks away from his new apartment complex. A few other cars were turning beside him at the red light, and that was when he noticed how bright the morning sky was—turning his head right, he was struck dumb by an astounding pink and orange and yellow burst of paint coloring the sky right where it might the earth. The sun peeked out from behind a skyscraper and shined down upon all of Tokyo with its cheerful rays, throwing a pink veil over every object and person. Bokuto stared at the rising sun in wonder, realizing this was the first time he had really looked at the sun since he got out of prison. All his anger and frustration seemed to melt away, replaced by images of Akaashi dancing and Tetsurou singing one of those strange songs he made up every day.

_This is what it must have been like when Tetsurou was born._

A car honked behind Bokuto, signaling that the light had turned green, but it didn’t bother him. The only shades he could see were orange, yellow and pink as he pushed off the ground and drove home in the morning light. The first morning he knew he was a father.

~~*~~

It was incredibly difficult for Bokuto to not call or text Akaashi in the next few days. As much as he wanted to talk about what had transpired, his mind was still healing and coming to grips with the fact that Tetsurou was his _son_ —when that news finally sank in (after a cute incident with a baby at the fish cart), Bokuto did what all parents were naturally good at: he went shopping.

Koutarou wandered around a maze of children’s toys and clothing for at least two-hours before his mind cleared, reminding him he needed to actually start picking things out instead of staring in amazement. Just as he settled on starting in a toy aisle, a sales woman came up to him.

“Hello sir! Can I help you find something?”

“Uhh, well…I’m looking for some new toys—for my son.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” The woman smiled brightly. “How old is your son, sir?”

“Six.” _Oh shit, isn’t his birthday on the 17 th or something? That’s like, three days away!_ “Well, he’s turning seven in a few days,” Bokuto added quickly.

“We’ve got a lot of shopping to do, then! Come with me!”

“Wait, where are we—”

Bokuto hardly got another word out for the next four hours, agreeing with whatever the woman said about what young boys liked these days. They spent one of those hours in the clothing section, and Koutarou was amazed at how cute kids clothing was now days; the sales woman agreed and helped him pick out over a dozen new outfits, fit for someone even as lavish as Tetsurou. They went through row after row, aisle after aisle trying to decide what toys were the best, which would last the longest, which were the most educational, etc. etc. Long story short, Bokuto ended-up with three carts-worth of toys, books, jackets, funny t-shirts and shoes. _So_ _many_ shoes. How could he ever pick between pairs of sneakers when they were all so cool? And the slick black dress shoes were off the chain, and so were the classic Air Jordan’s with grey speckles on the side, and so were every other pair of sneakers he laid eyes on.

 _Maybe it’s a good thing I wasn’t around when Tetsu was born,_ Bokuto thought to himself as he spent his entire Wednesday afternoon wrapping up all fifteen boxes of gifts. _The kid would be even more spoiled than he is now. But that’s what kids are for, right?!_

Just as Koutarou was adding layers and layers of tape to the side of one horribly-wrapped present, his phone chimed, signaling a text from Akaashi Keiji himself. Bokuto hadn’t heard from Akaashi since that morning, but he was surprised it had taken the ballerina this long to check-up on him. Then again, Keiji was always great at giving people space when they needed it—but given how lust-hungry he had been, Bokuto was surprised at how well he was holding out. But maybe the additional trauma of seven-years apart had something to do with it…

 **😘** ** _Keiji <3 (-kun):_** _Tetsu would like to formally invite u to his birthday party this friday. “Presents NOT optional” apparently… (3:42 p.m.)_

The fish fryer smiled to himself and quickly typed back a response.

 ** _Bokuto-san:_** _Hell yea! Im so in. And I’ve got LOTS of presents to give him (3:44 p.m.)_

 **😘** ** _Keiji_** **💗** ** _(-kun):_** _Not too many, I hope (3:44 p.m.)_

Bokuto glanced over at his living room, which was covered head-to-toe in wrapping paper, tape, bows and destroyed boxes.

 ** _Bokuto-san:_** _well…what do u want me to say, Akaashi? (3:46 p.m.)_

 **😘** ** _Keiji_** **💗** ** _(-kun):_** (¬_¬) _(3:47 p.m.)_

 ** _Bokuto-san:_** _hehe_ (/^▽^)/ _(3:47 p.m.)_

 **😘** ** _Keiji_** **💗** ** _(-kun):_** _So_ _(3:48 p.m.)_

 **😘** ** _Keiji_** **💗** ** _(-kun):_** _R we okay? Well, not “okay,” but…u know what I mean (3:50 p.m.)_

Sometimes it was so hard to pretend to be mad at Akaashi. He was just too thoughtful and compassionate. And funny. And stylish. And unbelievably sexy.

 ** _Bokuto-san:_** _duh. We r dating, after all (3:52 p.m.)_

 **😘** ** _Keiji_** **💗** ** _(-kun):_** _we’ll see u friday, then (3:52 p.m.)_

 ** _Bokuto-san:_** _wudnt miss it 4 the world!!! (3:53 p.m.)_

By Friday, it had snowed a few light flurries and the wind had become sharper, so Bokuto opted to wear jeans and a camouflage jacket instead of a fancy, uncomfortable suit; this didn’t stop him from freezing his ass off as he drove his motorcycle to Akaashi’s house Friday afternoon. There were a dozen expensive cars parked all around the block, another Lexus, a few Hybrids, even a silver Acura NSX, which Bokuto parked his bike behind and considered scratching the door, just for spite. _Damn, I already feel under-dressed_ , Koutarou thought, glancing down at his boots and ripped jeans. _Oh well. I’m used to being the hot outsider anyway!_

Bokuto knocked on the front door and waited hardly ten-seconds before Tetsurou appeared with another little boy with long dark hair that hid his face.

“Bokuto-san!!! You came!” Tetsu cheered happily.

Love swelled in Koutarou’s chest as he looked down at Tetsurou, with his large, golden eyes and messy black hair, those stained grey pants, wool socks and white Mandarin-styled satin shirt—Bokuto was starstruck for a moment, this being the first time he had seen the boy since discovering the truth about his origins. This was the first birthday they would spend together. Tetsu wouldn’t know it, of course, but Bokuto hoped he could at least show his son, somehow, that he was proud of who he was, who he would be someday.

_Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry…_

“Yeah,” Bokuto smiled at the boy, a different smile than ever before. “I brought lots of presents, too. So many I had to _mail_ them.”

“What?! That many?!” Tetsu said in shock, looking down at his friend in amazement. “Are you _hearing_ this, Kenma?”

“Yes,” The long-haired boy nodded. “I’m standing right here…”

“Come in, come in!”

Tetsu dragged Bokuto inside and slammed the door behind them, taking the fish fryer’s hand to lead him towards the living room; even _that_ sensation felt different than before, and Koutarou held on for as long as he could. There was over ten adults sitting in the living room surrounded by several children playing at the coffee table, which Bokuto thought was strange, because Akaashi always hated entertaining for large groups of people. He suspected Tetsu had something to do with it (him being as popular as he was) and scanned over the crowd as Tetsurou stopped them right in the middle of the room.

“Hey everyone! This is my Mommy’s ex-boyfriend, Bokuto-san!” He introduced. Bokuto thought for sure Akaashi was going to scold him, but he didn’t seem to be here at the moment. “Bokuto-san, these are my friends from school and their mommies!”

“Hi, everybody,” Bokuto greeted, getting amazed stares from nearly all of the people in the room. Mostly from the kids, but the parents were checking him out, too. “It’s nice to meet all of Tetsu’s friends.”

“Yeah! I’ll tell you their names, but I’m only going to say it once, so pay attention, okay?”

“Got it.”

Tetsu went around the entire room and introduced everybody one-by-one: first there was Lev, a photographer friend of Akaashi’s, and he was sitting next to Yaku, Akaashi’s publicist. A few junior ballerinas were there as well, Hinata and Yamaguchi (and Suguru—ick); they were sitting next to Yukie, and even Yachi, the attendant from _Leclair’s_ was there, too. Bokuto lost track of names once they got to the parents, barely able to keep up with Tetsurou’s pace as he jumped to his colorful friends.

“And these are my friends from school—that’s Kai, Shibayama, Terushima, Kiyoko-chan, Taketora, and this is Kenma, my bestie!” Tetsu explained, throwing an arm around the long-haired boy, who looked uncomfortable with all the attention.

“Hey! I thought _I_ was your best friend, Tetsu-chan!” The blonde child asked.

“You told me _I_ was your best friend!” Kai accused.

“We’re _all_ best friends, okay?”

The boy named Taketora was silent out of the bunch, standing up and approaching Koutarou as he struggled to remember all the names being thrown at him. He only looked down when the mohawk kid tugged on his pants.

“Have you ever given someone a wedgie?” Taketora asked seriously.

“Uhh…no, can’t say I have.”

“Oh. You look the type.”

Tetsu and Kenma snickered to themselves as Taketora continued staring up at Bokuto, who wasn’t sure what to do next; that strange question must have triggered the rest of the children’s curiosity, because they all came barreling up to Koutarou and began asking him similar questions. Did he have many girlfriends? Did he drink protein shakes? How many sportscars did he own? And the number one question they all wanted an answer for, why did he break up with Tetsu’s mother? The cute girl named Kiyoko had asked that question, pretending to be innocent when Yachi blushed and scolded her daughter for asking such a personal question. Bokuto had a feeling Tetsurou had been creating some pretty elaborate stories to fill-in the blanks of Akaashi’s ex’s backstory. Koutarou was only saved by Konoha walking by and scoffing at his outfit choice, a half-empty glass of champagne in his hand.

“I spend hours picking out the nicest suits for you, and _this_ is what you’re wearing?”

“Hey, I look good in casual clothes!”

Konoha rolled his eyes and plopped down beside Yachi, prompting the kids to run over to him and beg for a drink of the “magic juice” he had in his glass. Tetsu took this opportunity to grab onto Koutarou again—not that he minded the attention at all. In fact, he was silently glad the boy was so pleased about his presence and really wanted to rub it in Suguru’s face.

“Bokuto-san, let’s go to the kitchen and bring the snacks out!” Tetsurou said, tugging the hitman out of the living room. This mention caused the other kids (and Lev) to start a determined chant and clap their hands together, getting louder and louder as their hunger grew.

_“Snacks, snacks, snacks, snacks, SNACKS!”_

Bokuto let himself be pulled into the kitchen, where the island and every free space was _covered_ in dishes, opened food packets, chocolate smears and small glasses filled with sparkling cider. It was a disaster, to say the least, and in the middle of it all was a highly-stressed ballerina running around with cheese slices in one hand, a dangerously full plate of onigiri in the other.

“Mommy, are the snacks ready, yet?”

“Yes, Tetsu, I’m just finishing—”

Akaashi Keiji froze when he turned and saw Bokuto standing there with Tetsurou, mouth hovering open and cheese slices in danger of being dropped. His eyes went from startled to hesitant, unsure how to start this dreaded reunion after the bomb of Tetsu’s birthright had been dropped. The kitchen was silent for a minute until Bokuto gave Akaashi a gentle smile.

“Hey, ‘Kaashi. You look a little…frazzled.”

“Hi,” Keiji greeted. “Hi.”

Tetsu snickered at his mother and snatched a nearby Pocky off its plate, waving it around while jumping up and down excitedly.

“Come on, Mom, let’s give the people what they want!”

“Let me help with that,” Bokuto said, scooping the plate of goodies from Akaashi’s hand and another sitting on the island. “Where do you want them?”

“Uhh…just on the coffee table is fine,” Keiji said, grabbing the drinks and trying to break out of his funk. “Thank you.”

“Sure!” When Tetsu ran out of the room, Koutarou lowered his voice and whispered to Akaashi. “Anything for my _boyfriend_.”

That comment got Keiji to loosen up a little, the tiniest of smiles bracing his lips as he tried to brush past the hitman without him seeing it.

“Ahh, there’s that smile!” Bokuto teased, following after him.

“Shut up. The kids want their snacks.”

“Well, I want a snack, too, just not _that_ kind of snack—”

Akaashi kicked his shin right before they entered the living room, immediately swarmed by children who were “starving” and in desperate need of “magic juice.” This was the key to getting hyper kids to calm down, Bokuto discovered, as the living room became quieter than it had been since he arrived. Tetsu and his classmates all sat around the coffee table together, nibbling on their rice balls and star shaped fruit after clinking their glasses together in a toast. The adults were able to talk amongst each other without having to yell, and as much as Koutarou wanted to sit with Akaashi (and maybe squeeze his thigh or throw an arm around his shoulder without it being romantic), the single mother was swept away by others, discussing an up-coming test the children had and what they were going to sing for their Christmas recital. Bokuto ate a little and was perfectly content to sit back and observe Akaashi and Tetsu have fun, but after a few minutes he found himself standing next to Suguru.

“So, you’re the famous Bokuto Koutarou I’ve heard about,” Suguru said appraisingly, looking the other man up and down suspiciously. “I’m Daishou Suguru—Akaashi’s partner and lead dancer for Sana’s Ballet Company.”

“Oh, right—you’re the guy Tetsu thinks is a vampire!” Bokuto grinned. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Daishou narrowed his eyes at that comment, glaring over at Tetsurou where he was trying to stick Pocky up Taketora’s nose without his mother noticing.

“Yes. Tetsurou-chan has a…vivid imagination.”

“He also says you know how to talk to snakes—is that true, or was he pulling my leg?”

Bokuto snickered into his hand at Suguru’s sour expression. How did Akaashi not tease him every day at the studio? Maybe he did. He made a mental note to ask later.

“I have some questions for you as well,” Daishou said without answering the questions directed at him. “Like your status of being Akaashi’s ex-boyfriend. What kind of ex-boyfriend is invited to his old lover’s son’s birthday party?”

“Tetsu and I are pretty good friends. I guess he was able to convince ‘Kaashi to let me come,” The fish fryer shrugged innocently. “I just moved back into town, so it’s nice to meet up with people I used to hang out with.”

Daishou didn’t seemed convinced, giving Bokuto a strange smile and turning away—Koutarou made a mental note to do some digging on that little snake later, just to make sure he wasn’t yakuza-involved. Tetsurou announced that it was time to open presents, so the food was pushed aside in favor of stacking boxes up on the coffee table. Bokuto had a feeling Akaashi was going to kick his ass when his presents got here, considering there was already a significant amount of boxes on the table, but at least Tetsu would appreciate them.

Most of his classmates got him video games and shirts to match their own, and Kenma gave him several magazines about French fashion that Akaashi had probably told him to buy. Kiyoko gave Tetsu a box of Korean candy (which was a big hit with the other kids), Yaku gave him a journalist writing set, equipped with a clipboard, official lanyard and a fountain pen, and Konoha, of course, bought him a new outfit for his up-coming Christmas pageant. Tetsurou seemed genuinely happy with all his gifts so far, and whether or not that was because Akaashi had practiced etiquette with him, Bokuto didn’t know—but the best present so far was from Keiji himself. It seemed innocent enough, a medium-sized box with a bundle of difficult mind toys on the first layer.

“Wow, these will keep me busy ‘till next year!” Tetsu exclaimed happily, shaking one of the toys. “I bet they’re suuuuper hard, huh?”

“Maybe,” His mother shrugged. “There’s one more thing in the box.”

Everyone watched the seven-year-old as he pulled at another layer of tissue paper, barreling to the bottom of the box to see what else was inside; the children were all confused when the birthday boy suddenly paused, eyes widening with shock as he saw what the last present was. Very slowly, his hands reached inside and grabbed the item.

“A PRADA JACKET?!” Tetsurou nearly screamed, holding the puffy, shiny black jacket up for all to see. _“PRADA?!”_

“Yes, Prada,” Akaashi sighed heavily, making the adults laugh. “ _Please_ don’t get it too dirty.”

Tetsurou’s face lit-up with a blinding smile as he hurriedly stood up and slid the coat on, zipping it up and modeling for his friends, who “oooed” with amazement. Lev mumbled something about how jealous he was under his breath, and Suguru made a comment about how many chicks he could pick up with it. Bokuto was smiling to himself (mostly because Akaashi was guilty of spoiling their son, too) when Tetsu came running over to him and twirled around for him to see the coat.

“Look, Bokuto-san! Isn’t it rockin?!”

“ _Totally_ rockin.”

Tetsu grinned and turned back around to barrel into Keiji in his chair, hugging him as tight as he could around the waist.

“Thank you so much, Mommy!” He cheered happily, tugging Akaashi’s head down for a kiss.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

“I promise I won’t _ever_ get it dirty, and I’ll wear it every single day, even in the summertime! Thank you thank you _thank you!!!”_

Akaashi no longer looked tired, now, smiling softly at his son as he ran off to let his friends feel his new jacket; everyone around them was smiling, laughing and joking with each other as wrapping paper and ribbons were scattered around the living room…Bokuto suddenly felt like he was seeing everything from third-person. Did Tetsurou have a party like this every year? Did he always have this many friends to come and celebrate with him? Who did Akaashi invite for his first birthday party? Did he ever ask Akaashi why his father never came to his birthday? All these moments Bokuto had missed out on for so long, but now that he was finally here, Koutarou couldn’t stop thinking about what could have been. If he hadn’t killed people for a living, if he was actually in business school like he told Akaashi, if Keiji had been able to tell him he was pregnant, if Fukurodani hadn’t sold him out—

Across the room, Keiji could see Bokuto’s smile fading from his lips as his eyes drifted further and further away from reality. Akaashi pulled Tetsurou closer to him and whispered something in his ear; a gasp from Tetsurou alerted Bokuto, and the boy ran over to him with wide eyes.

“Bokuto-san, have my presents gotten here yet?”

On command, the doorbell rang, and Bokuto grinned at his son.

“That should be them! Let’s go check it out.”

“Yeah!!!”

Tetsu held the door open for the delivery men and grinned like there was no tomorrow as present after present was brought inside—Akaashi thought he was hallucinating for most of those trips, but when the coffee table was once again covered by boxes, he knew Bokuto had to be behind this. Everyone watched in amazement as the last of the presents was hauled in by Koutarou himself, happily setting the biggest one in front of Tetsu, who, at this point, couldn’t stop squirming.

“Jeez, and we thought Tetsu was spoiled before,” Konoha laughed.

“I haven’t gotten that many presents with all my birthdays combined!” Lev whined, snapping a picture of the scene.

Akaashi didn’t know what to say or do. He could only watch as Tetsu asked his friends to help him open his gifts, discovering mounds of candy, funny shirts, puzzles, boardgames, toys, hoodies, and _shoes_. So many shoes and sneakers and sandals from every brand imaginable. Tetsurou was definitely going to have to clean out his closet later just to get these new additions to fit.

“Another pair of sneakers?” Akaashi asked in shock as Tetsurou pulled out a pair of red Adidas. “How many is that, now?”

“Eight and counting,” Suguru huffed. All he had gotten Tetsu was the entire _Harry Potter_ book series, but who cared about that?

“This is amazing! The only thing that could make this birthday even better is cake!” Tetsurou cheered.

“I’ll go get it,” Akaashi sighed heavily, feeling a headache coming on as he maneuvered his way through the tornado of gifts scattered across the living room. “I might need a couple drinks, too…”

Bokuto had been trying to organize Tetsu’s shoes for him when Keiji entered with a large Prada-themed birthday cake with seven candles on top. Seven years had been a long time for Koutarou before, but knowing what he did now, he realized those seven years had flown by at an incredible pace. Tetsurou was already seven years old. He was practically a middle-schooler already, showing off his Prada jacket and new sneakers to his friends, diving into a piece of his cake and thanking everyone for singing to him…how could he be seven already? It didn’t seem possible to Bokuto.

“This cake is _boss_!” Taketora shouted, to which everyone agreed.

“Totally! Is it yummy, Bokuto-san?” Tetsurou asked him. There was white icing all over his cheeks and lips, but he hadn’t gotten any on his new jacket. Yet.

“It’s _delicious_ ,” Koutarou mumbled over his bite. “Chocolate nut with lemon filling is my favorite kind of cake.”

“Really?! Mine, too! I always knew I liked you, fish fryer-san.”

Gentle pain surged through Bokuto’s chest whenever Tetsu beamed at him, but he didn’t mind this kind of agony. The boy seemed happier than ever, and that was perfectly fine. The parents and kids talked amongst themselves as they ate their cake, and Koutarou spotted Akaashi heading towards the kitchen again; he figured he should apologize for the mound of gifts he spoiled Tetsu with and stood up, bringing his cake with as he found Keiji quietly wiping off several counters in the kitchen.

“Too much?” The hitman joked.

“Just a little,” Akaashi nodded, but there was a smile on his lips as he glanced over at Bokuto. “But I expected nothing less.”

“Gotta make up for all the other birthdays, you know,” Bokuto grinned proudly. “Aren’t you going to have any cake?”

“Maybe later. Right now I have to clean this up and grab a bag for all the wrapping paper—well, I better grab two or three…and I’ll have to put away all the snacks so they don’t go bad—”

“I got a better idea. Why don’t you just chill out for a second, and have some cake?”

Koutarou held his plate out to Keiji, moving it around as a way of tempting his taste buds; the ballerina looked hesitant, but after a moment he slowly set down his dish rag and accepted the cake, taking a tiny bite off the corner and chewing quietly. Bokuto leaned back against the island casually, letting silence fill the air between them until Akaashi finished his first bite.

“I thought you might have taken off,” Keiji confessed softly. “When I didn’t hear from you for a week…but I know I’m just being selfish. I have to give you time to grieve for the things you never got to experience with Tetsu.”

The fish fryer was smiling at Akaashi when he looked over, making him frown suspiciously.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Cause’ you haven’t changed at all in seven years,” Bokuto cackled.

“Wha—I have, too!” Keiji claimed.

“Nope. You’re still a control freak with a compassion streak.”

Akaashi stuck his elbow in Bokuto’s side hard (although it didn’t so much as faze the other), stabbing at his cake in annoyance.

“And _you_ still spoil everyone in your life even when they don’t deserve it.”

“Pft. Is that a comeback? I see that as a compliment.”

That got Akaashi to laugh a little, but he and Koutarou’s moment was cut short by Suguru appearing, stopping in the entrance of the kitchen and looking at them in surprise. They were unusually close at the island, arms touching, Akaashi apparently having stolen Bokuto’s cake, though he didn’t seem to mind; either way, that was not how any of Daishou’s ex-lover’s acted towards _him_ , so he had a deep suspicion something else was going on.

“Oh, sorry—I didn’t know you two were in here,” Suguru said innocently.

“That’s okay. We were just…taking a break. From the kids,” Akaashi explained. He gobbled another bite of cake to occupy himself.

“Sure, sure,” Daishou nodded, grabbing a bottle of water off the counter. “Don’t mind me.”

Instead of leaving, Suguru opened and drank from his bottle right there, creating an uncomfortable atmosphere between the three as the conversation fell into nothing. Akaashi managed to nearly finish the cake piece entirely before he realized he was stress-eating and hurriedly passed it back to Bokuto, scanning the kitchen for something else to do.

“Well, I should…probably start cleaning.”

“I’ll help,” The fish fryer offered immediately. “Want me to start the dishes?”

“If you could just wrap those little sandwiches up and put them in the fridge, that would be great.”

“On it!”

The rest of the afternoon was quiet, mostly because Suguru became an unwanted chaperone every time Bokuto and Akaashi were alone together. As irritated as Keiji was, he also wasn’t sure if he really wanted to be alone with Koutarou quite yet—sure, he still called Akaashi his boyfriend and was being his irritatingly polite, charming self with the guests and children, but Keiji could tell Koutarou was still trying to wrap his head around being a father. He put off the remainder of that conversation as long as he could, nerves increasing as he said goodbye to their friends around six o’clock.

“Thanks for coming. See you at the Christmas recital.”

“Great party, Keiji,” A now very-drunk Konoha said playfully. He threw an uncoordinated wink at him as he stumbled out the door after Yachi and Kiyoko. “I bet the _real_ fun is just about to begin.”

“Goodbye, Konoha,” Akaashi rolled his eyes.

Everyone was finally gone, and the house was empty, save for Bokuto, who had insisted he stay and clean up the mess he created. Thankfully there were no stains to be scrubbed, no cake icing to wash off the walls, just a floor covered in ribbons, paper, boxes and boxes of shoes, which Tetsu was now trying on one by one as his parents cleaned. With Bokuto’s help, Keiji got nearly everything back in order by eight. Everything except for Tetsu.

“Wow, he crashed earlier than I expected him to,” Akaashi commented in awe, leaning over where Tetsurou had passed-out on the couch with all his new clothes surrounding him like a blanket. “I guess I better take him to bed.”

“Actually—”

Koutarou shut his mouth almost immediately, fearing he was overstepping his boundaries, but Keiji was looking at him attentively, so he had to continue. Hopefully it didn’t result in a scowl or snarky reply.

“Could I take him to bed?” Bokuto asked hopefully.

“Oh.” The ballerina looked surprised, probably because no one had ever volunteered for this job in many years. “Sure! That would be nice. You can just…carry him to his room and get his pajamas on. I’ll start organizing his clothes.”

“Cool.”

Akaashi watched from the side as Bokuto carefully picked Tetsurou up and held him against his large chest like he had done it a thousand times before; the boy curled into him right away, sighing tiredly and letting himself be carried up to his bedroom. For the first time in seven years, Koutarou put his son to bed. He picked out a pair of silk pajamas and helped a barely conscious Tetsu slide them on, doing silent parent things like checking to make sure there were no bruises or unusual bumps on Tetsurou’s skin. He was probably supposed to brush his teeth, too, but Bokuto was a sucker and didn’t want to wake the boy up for something lame like that. He tucked Tetsu in snugly, ensuring the covers were warm enough and covered him from head to toe—the child wasn’t quite asleep yet, but he seemed already caught in a dream as he snuggled into his bed.

“Nighty night,” Tetsurou sighed. His little hands reached out for Bokuto, and the hitman let himself be pulled down for a gentle kiss laid across his cheek. “Love you.”

Of course Koutarou knew Tetsu probably thought he was Akaashi, because he had been putting him to bed since he was born, but to him, the first ‘I love you’ still counted. He struggled to hold back his own emotions as he leaned down and brushed Tetsu’s hair aside to lay an equally soft kiss against his forehead.

“Happy birthday, Tetsu,” Koutarou exhaled against the toddler’s temple. “I love you, too.”

Finished with his bedtime ritual, Tetsurou was completely asleep within thirty-seconds, unaware that Bokuto was still watching over him for the next ten-minutes; the ex-hitman only pulled himself away to ensure that the windows were secure, that the bedroom door had a sufficient lock on it, just in case. He closed the door halfway behind him, then needed a long minute standing in the silent hallway to collect himself—being a father was stressful already. Bokuto couldn’t even imagine parenting on his own for seven years. It must have been hell for Akaashi.

 _Guess I should go finish cleaning up_ , Koutarou sighed to himself, turning and heading back downstairs. _I feel like I can’t leave until I know both of them are safe and well. Maybe I can convince Akaashi to let me sleep on the couch tonight, just to be safe._

When Bokuto got back to the living room, he found it still a total disaster, though there was a small path cleared for walking, which Keiji apparently made so he could sit on the couch with a glass full of wine, half-empty bottle sitting on the coffee table. Koutarou tried not to laugh as he approached the scene.

“Still an alcoholic, I see.”

“It’s been a long, _long_ day,” The ballerina sighed deeply, eyelids shutting as Bokuto sat down on the couch beside him. “So many noisy kids…so much food…so much Suguru.”

“Yeah,” The fish fryer snorted. “ _Way_ too much Suguru.”

Akaashi chuckled softly, then leaned his elbow on the back of the couch so he could stare at Bokuto, who was busy fidgeting with his hands and staring off into space. From this angle, he looked so much like Tetsurou it almost hurt, but what hurt worse was knowing they could have shared these quiet moments after their son’s birthday six-times before, if fate had worked in their favor. Maybe it had, eventually, if Bokuto was here right now.

“How was it, then?” Keiji asked. “Your son’s first birthday party.”

“Really fun. I’m content to live in the present because I know I can’t change the past.”

“Pft—where’d you get that from? Some self-help book?”

“We were forced to read them in prison,” Bokuto remembered with a grin. “It was a buncha bullshit, but sometimes they had good points.”

Akaashi chuckled and took another sip of his wine, peeking over his glass when Koutarou turned himself to face the other adult—it felt like there was an important question coming, so Keiji took a long, big gulp before setting his glass down.

“Can I ask you for a favor, Akaashi-kun?” Bokuto wondered.

“…You can ask.”

“Would it be okay if I took Tetsurou out for supper tomorrow?”

Akaashi’s dark blue eyes blinked slowly, repeating the question a few times over.

“That’s it?” He asked.

“Well…yeah!” Bokuto nodded eagerly. “I just—I really wanna spend some time with him, one-on-one, just for a few hours. I know I’ve missed the first seven-years of his life, but I want to start making up for that—I don’t wanna miss anymore birthdays, anymore lame Christmas recitals, or anymore bedtime stories! Starting now, I wanna be involved in his life, and your life, too.”

Realizing he sounded a bit pushy towards Tetsurou’s mother, Bokuto hurriedly gave a weak smile and shrugged innocently.

“I mean…haha…if you’re okay with that, ‘Kaashi!”

“Of course I’m okay with it,” Akaashi said quietly. “Tetsu will love getting to know you better. And I’ll be happy to have you around, just like before.”

“Oh…really?”

“Yes, really,” The ballerina rolled his eyes. “Haven’t you figured out by now that I never got over you, Bokuto-san?”

Akaashi enjoyed watching his boyfriend blush and stumble over his words, trying to look anywhere but Keiji after that simple confession. It was nice to know Bokuto still couldn’t handle compliments. Or acknowledgements of love. In many ways, he was still like his teenage self, handsome, free-spirited and dorky, the only difference being how much hotter his ass was these days.

“Kaashi, you can’t—you can’t just _say_ that!” The fish fryer whined. “Jeez, I forgot how loose your lips are when you get wasted…”

“Do you want to take Tetsu out or not?”

“Yes! I’ll take him to an arcade or something, and then we can go eat! And we’ll pick you up after your show and walk home together, okay?”

“Okay,” Keiji exhaled in a nod. “I need to sleep, now—I’ll walk you out.”

As much as Bokuto wanted to stay longer, he was too excited over being allowed to take Tetsu out tomorrow to sulk, following Akaashi to the front door, where a gust of wind even colder than before blew inside the entryway. Keiji was giving him a strange look, as if he wanted to say something else, or maybe even ask him to stay, but his lips remained sealed. Before he could come up with a simple goodbye, the ballerina found himself behind tightly embraced by Koutarou.

“Thanks for inviting me, Keiji,” Bokuto thanked him sincerely. “I’m really happy to be Tetsurou’s father, even if he doesn’t know it, yet.”

“…Sure,” Akaashi said like an idiot, using one arm to hug him back. “I’m glad you came.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow around five, okay?”

Keiji nodded, wanting to pull Bokuto and his warmth back when he pulled away, but he was too late—Koutarou stepped outside, closing the front door behind him and entered the chilly November night. His bike was already cold to the touch, and of course he forgot to bring gloves along, so Bokuto mentally prepared himself for a horrible ride home.

“Shit…even the handles are freezing!” The hitman whimpered as he jerked his hand back. “I did not think this through, did I?”

Bokuto spent another five-minutes pacing around his bike to try and warm up, trying to find the courage to just hop on and drive as fast as he could. _But maybe that would only make me colder_ , he thought, rubbing the cold seat in hopes of warming its surface. _If I go slower, the wind won’t be as sharp. But if I go slower, I’ll be able to feel the cold leather and metal on my skin. That would suck. But it would suck even more if my face is cold, too!_

“Bokuto-san.”

Koutarou stopped pacing to see Akaashi standing a few feet away wearing a jacket, gloves and scarf and holding his car keys.

“Get in the car.”

“I’ll be fine, ‘Kaashi!” Bokuto insisted, hopping on his bike and cringing when his nuts could feel the cold leather through his jeans. “It’s not even that cold out! Plus, you drank like, a lot.”

“It was kid’s wine,” Akaashi sighed in annoyance. “Konoha drank my stash.”

“Well, either way, you’re super tired from your long day, so I’ll just drive myself!”

“Don’t be an idiot, Bokuto-san.” The shorter man tugged on his sleeve insistently. “Let’s go. You can come get your bike tomorrow night.”

“Well, alright—anything to cuddle up with Keiji in his car~”

“Get off me.”

“Ow! The only thing cold here is _you_ , ‘Kaashi!”

~~~*~~~

The next afternoon, Bokuto was waiting outside his apartment for Akaashi to drop Tetsurou off for their dinner date. He could hardly sit still all day, cleaning and fixing his bikes, anything to keep his mind occupied so time would go faster; finally, five o’clock arrived, and because Keiji was so proficient, he was there exactly then. Koutarou waved wildly as the Lexus pulled up, running over to meet them in his red sneakers and black leather jacket. Akaashi waved back, unable to hide his smile as he got out of the car and went over to Tetsurou’s side.

“Hey hey, Akaashi! How are you on this fine winter day?”

“Good…is this why you asked me to make sure Tetsu wore his new sneakers and jacket?” Keiji wondered, looking his boyfriend up and down. “So you could match?”

“Duh!”

Akaashi rolled his eyes and opened Tetsurou’s door, and the boy immediately noticed the similarities between he and Bokuto’s outfit, eyes widening as he pointed down to the fish fryer’s shoes.

“Hey! We’re matching, Bokuto-san!”

“Sure are!” Koutarou grinned. “We got the red sneakers, the jeans, and the black jackets! How cool looking are we?”

“ _So_ cool looking!” Tetsu agreed. “Mom, Mom, take a picture of us!”

“Okay, okay…”

Bokuto couldn’t have been smiling bigger as he kneeled down and threw an arm around Tetsurou’s shoulder, pulling him close so they could pose for the picture; Tetsu popped a peace sign right as Akaashi snapped the photo, and it was so cute the ballerina ended-up taking over fifteen of the same pose. _How could their first picture together be so perfect?_ Keiji wondered, trying not to tear-up like a big baby as he smiled at the photos. He was definitely setting that as his background.

“We are _totally_ going to rock the town tonight,” Tetsurou grinned, high-fiving Bokuto.

“Heck yeah!”

“If you two clowns are done posing, I’ve got a show to get to,” Akaashi interrupted. He handed Tetsurou a pair of gloves and a scarf, just in case, bending down to kiss him goodbye. “Be good. Don’t spend all of Bokuto’s money, don’t scam anyone, and make sure you eat enough.”

“I will, Mommy. Have a superb show!”

Keiji smiled at him and glanced over at Bokuto, trying not to be distracted by the simplicity of his attractive outfit. They were definitely father and son, now.

“See you later?” Akaashi confirmed.

“Definitely. Knock their socks off tonight!”

“Sure…bye, baby. See you in a bit.”

“Bye Mommy!”

Akaashi got in his car and drove away, leaving Bokuto and Tetsurou alone together—Tetsu looked up at his father with excitement, unknowingly resembling the fish fryer at a younger age with his wide golden eyes and toothy grin.

“What are we gonna do first, Bokuto-san?!”

“Well, I was thinking we could go have some fun at an arcade, and then we can grab some ramen at Tanaka’s before we meet up with your mom again—what do you think?”

“I think we better get going!” Tetsurou exclaimed, grabbing onto Bokuto’s hand and pulling him forward. “Come on, let’s go!”

Koutarou led Tetsu to a huge arcade a few blocks away, equipped with racing games, scientific games, shooting games and even _Dance Rush_ , which they played first, resulting in Bokuto completely destroying Tetsu, who hadn’t been lying when he said he didn’t inherit his mother’s dancing genes. After that they played _Taiko no Tatsujin_ , _Initial D Arcade Stage_ , Kenma’s favorite game _Wonderland Wars_ , and Bokuto pulverized an older boy in a game of _Donkey Kong_. Tetsurou was good at tricking machines, earning them over a million points on several games and showing Bokuto his secret tricks. They wandered through the arcade trying to find _Joust_ when Tetsurou spotted a Pokémon themed crane game that happened to have his absolute favorite Pokémon plush, Terracat.

“Bokuto-san, we have to win it!” The boy insisted, pointing wildly at the red and black cat creature. “Please win it for me! I’ll do whatever it takes!”

“Okay, okay!” Bokuto laughed, popping in a coin. “I’ll get it on the first try—just watch!”

Bokuto didn’t get it on the first try. Or the second try. Or even the tenth try. Or the fifteenth try. Tetsurou had his face pressed up against the glass for half-an-hour, waiting in agony as Koutarou struggled to get the crane’s legs to latch onto Terracat’s body. All he managed to do was twist the cat in a different position, making it even harder to grab by the time Bokuto was down to his last few coins. But Tetsurou was counting on him, so the talented fish fryer didn’t give up.

“Hey, Bokuto-san?” Tetsu prompted, watching as the crane dropped Terracat once again. He almost had it that time.

“Yeah?”

Tetsurou was quiet for a second, waiting until Bokuto had inserted his final coin before speaking.

“Did you and Mommy break up because you stopped loving each other?”

That question pulled Koutarou’s mind away from the stupid-ass crane game for the first time in forty-minutes. He looked down at Tetsu, who was staring up at him waiting for an answer, oblivious to all the history and heartbreak behind his question; there was no simple answer, but Bokuto knew he could no longer lie to his son. As long as he told a little lie about he and Akaashi not being together, there was no harm in revealing a few secrets of the past.

“No, buddy. We still loved each other,” Bokuto told him honestly. “But some bad things were happening at that time, and Keiji couldn’t just stop his life because I was away. Remember how we talked about when I was in prison?”

“Mhm. Your roommate was named Bozo the Clown.”

“Right. Well, I got put in prison when I was dating your mom, seven years ago.”

“Oh.” Tetsurou blinked a few times, doing the math in his head. “I’m seven, now. You went away right about when I was born, huh?”

Koutarou nodded. The boy looked back at the game, eyes locked onto Terracat—with his final coin in the slot, Bokuto stuck out his tongue and focused, pushing the crane right above the plushie. It went down, catching Terracat around the head this time, and clamped on tighter than ever before, lifting it higher and higher until it was in the air. Tetsurou gasped loudly, covering his mouth to stop from jinxing the machine—Bokuto and him watched in heavy anticipation as the crane slowly moved towards the toy slot, inch by inch until it was completely above, releasing the toy into the opening.

 _“You got it!”_ Tetsurou practically screamed, jumping up and down. “You got it, Bokuto-san!”

“I told you I would!”

“Take it out, take it out!!!”

Koutarou grinned and grabbed the plushie out of the slot, bowing as he held the prize out to his son.

“One Torracat plush, just for you, good sir.”

“Why thank you, good sir!” Tetsu accepted the cat and hugged it tightly against his chest, spinning around like he was the happiest kid in the world. “Thanks for winning it, Bokuto-san! You’re the _best_!”

“I am the best, aren’t I?”

Bokuto smiled brightly at the boy and took his free hand, holding on as tightly as he could without hurting him. Tetsu had probably been happy like this before, but Koutarou certainly never had. This was a new kind of happiness, one he desperately wanted to feel more often.

“Come on—I’m getting hungry,” Bokuto said, leading Tetsu out of the arcade. “Let’s go get some ramen, hm?”

“Yeah, let’s go!”

The father and son ordered some ramen at _Tanaka’s_ , the exact same order, to be exact, and that was when Tetsu revealed that he never liked ramen unless it had pork _and_ chicken in it. Bokuto was the same way, and they discussed their love of meat and irritating Akaashi as they had dinner. Tetsu was exceedingly polite despite his love of talking, contributing it to his mother’s good habits and making sure his son had proper table etiquette at all times. Bokuto enjoyed hearing about their everyday life (silently hoping he could be a part of it soon), from the Sunday morning pancakes to the Thursday night marathons of _America’s Next Top Model_.

“Mom was _super_ mad when the person he didn’t want to win won, and even though he said he was boycotting the show, he watched the new cycle a few months later,” Tetsurou giggled.

“Pft—typical Akaashi.”

While Tetsu was talking, he managed to get ramen broth all over his cheeks and tried to find a nearby napkin before locating Bokuto’s sitting near his bowl.

“Bokuto-san, can I use that napkin, please?”

“Go for it.”

Tetsurou wiped around his mouth, but he missed a few spots and looked over at Koutarou to see if he got it all; instead of letting the boy do it himself, Bokuto took the napkin from him and wiped the juice off himself. To think, the first time he ever wiped his son’s mouth was when he was seven-years-old.

“Thanks!” Tetsu said, returning to his food. “Can I ask you something, Bokuto-san?”

“Sure!”

“If Mommy and you still loved each other even when you went away, does that mean you still love each other now?” Tetsurou questioned.

 _What is with this kid’s penetration?!_ Koutarou frantically wondered. _Akaashi should have never sent him to that business camp!_

“Uhh, well, I…I can’t really speak for Akaashi on this one, but…”

Bokuto had half a mind to lie, but Tetsurou was looking up at him so hopefully, so innocently—he couldn’t give him a depressing answer. What if the poor kid didn’t believe in love because his mother’s one true love hadn’t kept holding on for him after all these years? A little dramatic, but that’s what Koutarou was thinking as he stared over at little Tetsu.

“…Can you keep this secret for me, Tetsu-chan?” Bokuto whispered.

“Probably!”

“Well, the truth is, I _do_ still love your mom.”

“You do?!” Tetsurou gasped in shock. “For real?! Like, _love_ love?”

“ _Love_ love. But he can’t know that right now, okay? So let’s keep it a secret until I win him back. Got it?”

“Got it! Operation Love Spell is in commission!”

“Sure,” Bokuto snickered, ruffling the boy’s hair up. “Let’s finish our ramen and go pick Keiji up soon.”

Tetsurou nodded happily and picked up his spoon again, but before he could take another bite, he had one final thing to say.

“I’d be really happy if you were my dad, Bokuto-san.”

Koutarou choked on a noodle, gagging and coughing until his throat stopped spazzing out.

“Oh—Oh yeah?” He forced out.

“Yeah,” Tetsurou nodded certainly. “You’re a lot nicer than my first dad.”

The mention of a first dad confused Bokuto, but only a few minutes later Tetsurou said he was finished eating, so there was no time to ask any more questions. They paid and went on their way, cuddling up in their scarves as they walked to the stadium where Akaashi’s ballet recital was. Well, Bokuto didn’t bring a scarf, but Tetsurou had asked for a ride on his shoulders, so his legs were acting like a scarf—the show had finished a while ago, the last herd of the crowd hurrying to their cars so they could go home and warm up. Akaashi’s body was sorer than ever, legs aching, hips throbbing, head pounding from Suguru’s idiotic antics…he was glad to be going home. Stepping outside, he glanced around the parking lot, spotting his car and a few others, but no Bokuto or Tetsurou. The sky was darker than usual, clouds blocking the moonlight and looking as if it were about to snow—Akaashi heard someone calling his name from the parking lot entrance, and glanced over to see someone waving at him.

“Kaashi! Over here!”

There Bokuto was, walking towards Keiji with Tetsurou on his shoulders, smiling and waving at him joyfully—Tetsurou was clinging to the hitman’s shoulders lightly, trusting him with all his heart and soul as he suddenly glanced up towards the sky.

“Look!” Tetsu pointed. “It’s snowing!”

Little white flakes began falling from the sky, fluttering downward over the parking lot and landing on Tetsu and his father. Tetsurou immediately raised his plushie into the air and stuck his tongue out like Bokuto was doing, laughing and giggling together like a father and son should. Akaashi remained frozen where he was standing, just so he could watch the scene without interrupting: it felt like a pivotal scene from a movie about a broken family finding their way together again, and even if he was a main character, Keiji didn’t mind not having the spotlight.

When Koutarou and Tetsurou finally made it over to him, the hitman lifted the boy off his shoulders and let him prance around in the falling snow as he smiled breathlessly at Akaashi, who couldn’t stop staring at the tiny snowflakes scattered on his spikey hair. Between the dark lighting and brightness from the snow, Bokuto was looking just as good as the day they met when they were seventeen.

“Hey.”

“Hi…how was dinner?”

“It was great, Mom!” Tetsu answered, tugging on the ballerina’s hands. “We played games, had ramen, and look—Bokuto won me a Terracat plushie!”

“Oh, great—because you need more plushies to cover your bed with,” Akaashi teased, booping his son’s nose.

“Guilty, again,” Koutarou shrugged sheepishly.

“Let’s make snow angels!”

“I don’t think there’s enough snow for that, yet, sweetheart.”

“Well, then let’s have a group hug!” Tetsurou insisted, holding his arms out. “Come on! Bokuto-san, too!”

Akaashi and Bokuto shared a look, unable to resist Tetsu’s command and stepped forward together, letting themselves get tangled up as they shared a group hug; even if Akaashi had just come from a crowded stadium, he was sure he had never felt so warm before, completely sated by Tetsurou’s cuddles from below and Bokuto’s strength above, keeping the ballerina snugly against his shoulder after he snuck a quiet kiss to his cheek.

“Tetsu’s a great kid,” He whispered lowly. “I could have never raised him to be like that no matter how hard I tried…but I’m going to do my best with you from now on.”

Once more, Akaashi could do nothing but hug Bokuto just a little tighter, letting Tetsurou take both their hands and swing between them as they began walking towards the car. Both adults were silently thinking they could get used to this kind of scene, and Bokuto vowed that he would never forget a single moment of their life together from now on. Today’s fun with Tetsu would be the first of many, and for the boy’s next birthday, Bokuto hoped to be the one to wake him up with tickles and pancakes. He was so preoccupied with these lovely little thoughts the ex-hitman didn’t sense someone lurking in the snowy shadows, snapping pictures of them with a large camera.

As the three got into their car, the cameraman’s cell phone rang.

“Boss. Yeah, I’m watching him right now, but…there’s a problem,” He whispered anxiously.

 _“What?”_ The caller snapped. _“What kind of problem?”_

“…They’re with _him_.”

_“Who?”_

There was no mistaking it. The broad shoulders, thick biceps, strong thighs, spikey grey hair…and those intimidating, sharp golden eyes that glowed through the dark winter night like an owl closing in on their helpless prey.

“Fukurodani’s estranged hitman,” The man whispered. “Bokuto Koutarou.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohoho, what's happening there? who knows...


	5. "easier to die"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to post this on g-dragon's bday, but i had none of it written, so...yeah. happy late bday g-baby

_“It might be easier to die_

_Than to receive your forgiveness_

_I’m singing this song, but I don’t know if my_

_True feelings will reach you”_

Bokuto thought things were going well. Christmas was coming up, Tetsurou was thrilled about the snow and Akaashi looked super cute in fancy warm sweaters. He and Keiji were treading carefully around Tetsu, making sure he didn’t know anything suspicious was happening between them, but being the evil genius he was, they were sure he already knew something was going on, considering Akaashi was letting Bokuto hangout with them almost every night, now. If Tetsurou suspected them, though, he said nothing, content to let Bokuto play in the snow with them and pick out Christmas lights to hang around the house; today, the hitman was lucky enough to be decorating a huge white Christmas tree in the living room with an ecstatic Tetsu.

Akaashi made him swear to only get Tetsurou one useful present for this holiday—Bokuto agreed and gleefully deceived his boyfriend by getting _him_ a nice present for New Years. He would probably be pinched and berated for it later, but seeing the quiet gleam of appreciation in Keiji’s beautiful eyes would definitely be worth the fuss. There were a lot of things Bokuto missed seeing, and that was one of them; even if things were never as they once were between them, he at least wanted to start this new beginning off on the right foot. Hopefully, fate wouldn’t fuck them over this time and make them wait until the next lifetime for them to meet again.

“Bokuto-san, Bokuto-san, let’s put one up there!” Tetsurou pointed towards the top of the tree, holding a sparkling blue ball towards him. “Can you lift me up, please?”

“What, you mean like this?”

Koutarou grabbed Tetsu and threw him over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes, getting a shriek from the boy as he weakly protested, overcome by giggles until Bokuto finally relented and readjusted him so he was sitting on the hitman’s shoulders, neatly hooking the ball onto the tree. Akaashi walked in just at the right time, pausing so he could drink-in the cute sight of Tetsu trying to give Bokuto a noogie from where he sat on his shoulders. It was as if they had known each other their whole lives.

“I made coco,” Akaashi reluctantly interrupted, setting down the tray.

“Sweet!” Bokuto chirped, sprinting over with Tetsu dangerously bouncing on top of him. But they were both grinning like idiots, so Keiji let it go. “Ready to jump down, little man?”

“Yeah!”

“Do _not_ —”

Akaashi sighed heavily as Bokuto swung the child off him like they were some kind of circus freaks, only to warn Tetsu to be careful with his drink because the mug was probably hot. Akaashi had been doing a lot of sighing lately, partly because Tetsurou had been practicing those awful Christmas songs for his recital, partly because he was busy preparing for his own Christmas recital, and partly because between Tetsu and Bokuto, the house had never seen like such a dangerous place to be. _Now I remember why I only rode on a motorcycle with Kou once_ , the ballerina thought as he plopped down on the couch with his own mug. The room was peaceful and quiet for a solid thirty-seconds before Tetsurou piped-up again.

“Mommy, can we make cookies today?”

“Cookies?” Akaashi repeated tiredly. He was exhausted from nine-hours-worth of ballet rehearsing every day this week. “We already have cookies.”

“But we have to _make_ these ones, Mom—Christmas-themed cookies!” Tetsu explained. He looked over at Bokuto for back-up. “Like elves and snowflakes!”

“And gingerbread men!” Koutarou chimed in. Apparently that was a wrong thing to say, because both Tetsurou and Akaashi scrunched up their faces in disgust. “Oh come on, ‘Kaashi, you got Tetsu-chan to hate gingerbread, too?!”

“It’s not like I ever said he _couldn’t_ like it,” Keiji shrugged with a small smile. “We just have the same tastes.”

“Gingerbread is icky!” Tetsurou agreed. “But I guess if Bokuto-san likes it, we can make some for you to take home. Can we make some, Mom, _pretty_ please?”

Bokuto hid a smile behind his mug as Keiji looked at him, then back to Tetsu, who was looking up at him with those pleading golden eyes and adorable pout. Akaashi had half a mind to completely ignore that devilish look, but if he did that he would have to look at Bokuto again, and then he would get the urge to kiss his stupid face, and he didn’t want to do that (in front of Tetsurou, at least)…

“I suppose,” Akaashi exhaled heavily, closing his eyes and taking a long sip of his coco. _I knew I should have slipped some vodka in._

“Don’t worry, Kaashi, I’m the best at making cookies!” Bokuto claimed, pointing at himself proudly. “After we get the tree decorated, we’ll make the best Christmas cookies _ever_!”

“Sure, sure…”

“You doubt the great fish-fryer?!” Tetsu accused. “How _dare_ you!”

Akaashi lightly jabbed a finger into his son’s side, getting him to squirm and giggle out of his semi-serious expression. Bokuto had been more focused than usual, determined to remember every last little domestic scene like these ones for nights when he wished he could do nothing more than lie beside Akaashi in bed as Tetsu slept soundly in his room a few steps down the hall. Lately Bokuto had been dreading returning to his apartment, because even though Tetsurou had helped him decorate a bit, it just wasn’t home. True, Keiji had been giving him mixed signals lately, probably because they agreed to take things slow from now on, but spending Christmas and New Years with his _family_ was a dream he imagined over and over again.

The truth was, Bokuto just wanted to move in with Akaashi already and go back to the way things were—but he knew he couldn’t. Not yet, anyway. As happy as he was to even have this much time with his son, the up-coming holidays brought that lonely, hopelessly vacant hole back to Koutarou’s chest as it had for the past seven years.

“Come on, Tetsu-chan—let’s finish decorating the tree, and then we can make some cookies, alright?” Bokuto said excitedly.

“Let’s do it, to it!”

Akaashi used the next ten-minutes to rest, lazily watching Bokuto’s strong form lift Tetsu up and down to make sure the white tree was filled with as many decorations as possible; he was getting used to Koutarou’s athletic movements again, but once in a while he did find the dirtier portion of his head going down the gutter, obsessed with how the muscles in Bokuto’s shoulders tensed whenever he reached upward, practically making the ballerina drool whenever he saw the hitman’s abs tighten under his long-sleeved t-shirt—Akaashi knew they both wanted to be together again, like they had been that one night, but with things getting so busy around December, Bokuto hadn’t even been sneaking inappropriate fondlings when Tetsu wasn’t looking. Keiji thought maybe he was turning into a nymphomaniac or something, even though reason told him it was probably just because Koutarou was afraid to step over an invisible line.

 _To be fair, we crossed a lot of lines that night_ , Keiji reasoned as he followed Tetsurou and Bokuto into the kitchen. _But I guess he has more control now…which is good. I’m just being needy because I had sex for the first time in seven years._

“Alright, Tetsu-chan; the first thing you should know when baking cookies is to _always_ wear an oven mitt. Right, Akaashi?” The fish fryer smirked at his boyfriend playfully.

“You’re on thin ice, Bokuto-san.”

“Okay, okay! Tetsu, grab the sugar, butter and flour; I’ll grab the chocolate chips, ginger and eggs.”

Tetsurou and Bokuto owned the kitchen for a while, stuck in their own little world while wearing matching aprons and taking turns mixing, adding ingredients and making a terrible mess on the island, but Akaashi didn’t mind. He was lost in his own daydreams, remembering the time he was trying to bake for New Year’s Eve and ended-up burning his hand because he foolishly forgot to put an oven mitt on when he went to take the fish out of the oven…Bokuto had been there to help fix things before their friends came over, and that was the day Keiji vowed to never host a party again. He liked to think he had come a long way since then, given how many parties and celebrations Tetsurou had, but Akaashi knew he would probably be a lot better if Bokuto had been with him.

 _Stop thinking that_ , Keiji shook his head, trying to focus on watching Tetsurou mix a bowl of dough all by himself. _The past is done, over, gone. There’s no use thinking about it anymore…_

 _Then why can’t you let go?_ A different voice asked him. _Why do you keep jumping forward and then flinching back?_

_I don’t know. I just don’t know…_

“Akaashi, do you wanna help?”

“I’ll watch from over here,” Keiji waved off. “You know I’m a hazard when I try to bake.”

“And cook,” Tetsu giggled.

“Like you’re any better,” His mother teased back.

“Come on, I’m sure you’ve gotten better since you were young!” Bokuto claimed, tugging Akaashi over by his sweater sleeve. The hitman didn’t realize his mistake until he caught Tetsu staring at him with his mouth wide open in shock. “…What? What did I say?”

“Since I was _young_?” Akaashi repeated with narrowed eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are you accusing me of being _old_ , Bokuto-san?”

“Uh oh…” Tetsurou mumbled, hiding behind the nearest bowl.

“No, no, not at all, Keiji! I just, uh—I just meant, that…um…”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” Keiji snatched a nearby spoon, and for a second Bokuto thought he was going to get a nasty spanking until Akaashi pointed at the bowl of gingerbread dough. “Does that one need stirring?”

“Oh—yeah! Here you go, haha.” _Man, I really fucked up this time!_ “I didn’t mean to imply that you’re _old_ , Kaashi, I was just saying that you’re…older than you _used_ to be! Not that you have wrinkles or anything! You actually look better than you did back then!”

“Bokuto-san.”

_Oh my god, oh my god! Akaashi’s going to beat my ass with the wooden spoon!_

“Y-Yeah?” Koutarou stuttered.

“It’s in your best interest to stop talking.”

“Right. Gotcha.”

Tetsurou distracted from the situation by asking about the oven temperature, and the conversation was _almost_ forgotten as the evening went along, three batches of Christmas-themed cookies cooked, decorated and sampled. Akaashi did his best to make it look like he knew what he was doing, but his didn’t look nearly as cool as Bokuto’s, whose elves and snowflakes were almost inhumanly decorated with precise icing work. The chocolate chip ones were Tetsurou’s favorite, and he chose the best ones to take to his class tomorrow, choosing some of his mother’s awful candy cane cookies just to get on his good side. Bokuto tried to get them to try his gingerbread cookies, but Tetsurou ran away and Keiji gave him a cold look that said it wasn’t about to happen, so he packed up all thirty-six gingerbread cookies to take home and binge eat whenever he was sad.

“Bokuto-san, are you coming to Mommy’s recital next week?” Tetsu asked as they were cleaning up the kitchen. “It’s their first _Nutcracker_ show of the year, and it’s super cool! Even _I_ can sit through it! Will you come watch with me?”

“Uhh, well…”

Bokuto dared to look over at Akaashi, who at first was raising an eyebrow at him, but then changed his expression as if to say _you better be there_. The fish fryer would do anything if it meant not getting his ass beat with a wooden spoon for accidentally calling Keiji old.

“Of course!” Koutarou smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Sweet!” Tetsurou cheered, pumping a fist. “Didja hear that, Mom?”

“I heard,” Akaashi nodded, coolly sliding past Bokuto to whisper in his ear. “And he better behave, or else he’ll be getting _coal_ for Christmas.”

~~~*~~~

Bokuto and Tetsurou were dressed in their very best as they settled into their seats for _The Nutcracker_ recital, three days before Tetsu’s own concert; the stadium was packed, and Koutarou recognized Konoha, Yachi, Yukie and Komi amongst the crowd, but none of them had as good as seats and he and Tetsu did, right smack in the middle of everything, just like years before when Akaashi would reserve the seat especially for his boyfriend. Bokuto made sure to smuggle snacks into his suit in case Tetsurou was hungry, and he was glad he did so, because the boy asked for something almost immediately, squirming around to get comfortable in his chair as he crunched on goldfish crackers.

“Mommy says I’m a crumb monster,” Tetsu mumbled through his food. Meanwhile, Bokuto was horrified at the mess of colorful goldfish pieces littering the boy’s dark red suit that Konoha got him for his birthday. “I don’t think I’m as bad as Terushima-chan, though!”

“Right…”

“It’s starting!”

Koutarou hid the goldfish in his suit as the lights dimmed down, orchestra getting into position as the curtains were pulled back—Bokuto was trying to remember what role Akaashi had when he danced in _The Nutcracker_ all those years ago, but found it really didn’t matter when his boyfriend entered the stage, now, because he stole the show _entirely_. Tetsurou actually gasped when he saw his mother, tugging on Bokuto’s sleeve excitedly while never taking his eyes off Keiji.

“Doesn’t Mommy look so pretty?” He whispered, eyes wide as the lights sparkled off their golden flame.

“He does. The prettiest,” Bokuto whispered back, to which Tetsu nodded blankly at. The fish fryer was torn between watching Keiji dance across the stage in his breathtaking outfit and watching Tetsurou admire him, expression brighter and more amazed than he had ever seen before. It was clear, now, who Tetsu idolized, if it hadn’t been evident already.

“…I think Mommy really likes you,” Tetsurou said to him as Suguru and Akaashi danced together. “Operation Love Spell will succeed—I just know it!”

“I’m glad you think so,” Koutarou smiled, putting an arm around the boy. “And I like you as much as I like your mom, Tetsu-chan.”

Tetsurou smiled up at him, then, as they were the only people in the world, lips pulled back in a gentle grin that revealed all his tiny white teeth, so innocent and free of sorrow…Bokuto didn’t know such a smile existed until Tetsu came barreling into his life, cheating him out of money and practically begging the ex-hitman to be involved in his life. It was as if the boy somehow knew, deep down, that he and Koutarou were connected in a way he couldn’t understand yet. The hole in the hitman’s chest closed considerably as Bokuto did his best to return a similar smile, completely absorbed by Tetsurou as he turned his attention back to Akaashi as he glided across the stage like an angel.

“I love Mommy,” He whispered simply. “I want him to be happy forever.”

“So do I,” Bokuto agreed, laying a soft kiss against Tetsu’s messy hair. “I want you two to be happy forever.”

Bokuto may have felt a lot of regret at the way things turned out between he and Keiji, but there was no way he could find enough bitterness in his heart to regret the way his son had been raised by Akaashi.

Honestly, Koutarou hoped Keiji wouldn’t ask him how he liked the show, because from that moment on his attention was focused entirely on Tetsu—once in a while he was able to glance back at the stage and be sucked in by Akaashi’s movements, but he always found himself looking back at Tetsu while he eagerly watched his mother with glowing eyes. It felt like he was having an existential crisis or something; pain and love took turns injuring his heart every time Tetsurou gasped or smiled or laughed or did anything, really, and for all the training Bokuto had gone through dealing with emotions, none of his hitman tricks worked for whatever _this_ was. People probably thought he was some kind of predator, staring at Tetsu the way he was, but he couldn’t help it: his heart seemed to finally be grasping what it really meant to be a father, and those sudden sentiments blindsided his mind. Before Bokuto knew it, the show was over, and Tetsurou stood up in his chair to cheer loudly.

“GOOD JOB MOMMY!!!” He screamed at the top of his lungs, clapping as hard as his little hands would allow. “WOOHOO!!!”

Bokuto finally broke out of his stupor and grinned, lifting Tetsu up so they could cheer together, certain Akaashi could hear them from where he was bowing beside Suguru. Koutarou launched a yellow rose onto the stage, smiling when Keiji picked that one out of hundreds of red roses and held it closely to his chest. There was a light blush on his cheeks, and whether it was from the gesture or just from dancing, Bokuto didn’t care—he was happy to cheer at the top of his lungs with his son even after the curtains closed.

“Let’s go find Mommy, Bokuto-san!” Tetsurou insisted as they wormed through the backstage crowd together. “I think he has an interview tonight!”

“Okay, okay—hold my hand so you don’t get lost.”

“You better hold _my_ hand so _you_ don’t get lost,” The boy snickered back, complying to Bokuto’s request and tugging his father through the bustle of people. They briefly ran into Suguru and a few other ballerinas, catching eyes with their sharp suits and handsome expressions as they searched for Akaashi amongst the crowd; they couldn’t find him anywhere, and Tetsu stopped them along an empty side of the hall to glance around. There were plenty of attractive, privileged models and ballerinas being chatted up, but even Koutarou was having a hard time locating his boyfriend.

“Oh no!” Tetsurou suddenly exclaimed. Bokuto’s blood pressure spiked as he frantically glanced around and instinctively pulled the boy closer to him. “It’s my science teacher, Oikawa-san!”

“Oh.” _Thank goodness._ “You don’t like him or something?”

“He always flirts with Mommy and it’s _disgusting_!” The boy claimed, tugging Bokuto through the crowd and away from the tall man who attempted to wave at them. “Hurry, hurry, before he catches us!”

The hitman laughed as Tetsurou pulled him this way and that way, dodging other patrons and making zigzag running patterns to avoid his science teacher; this was the key to finding Akaashi, apparently, as they entered a clearer area of the hall and saw the lead dancer talking to a journalist. Tetsu stopped about six-feet away so they could hear what Keiji was saying.

“What’s your favorite part of _The Nutcracker_ performance, Akaashi-san?”

“When it’s over,” Keiji snickered jokingly. “I do love the plot and the choreography, and the music is beautiful, but this is one of the more exhausting performances, so I’m glad when we take our final bow for the night.”

“I would be exhausted, too,” The interviewer nodded. “Is your son old enough to sit through your performances?”

“He is, but I try not to drag him to too many shows; only certain genres keep his interest.”

“How old is he, exactly?”

“I’m seven!”

Bokuto didn’t realize Tetsurou had bolted away from him and injected himself into the interview until he heard his voice answer the question. The seven-year-old was standing right next to the journalist and sticking his chest out proudly.

_Shit! How does that twerp get away so quickly?!_

“I turned seven in November, and Mom got me a Prada jacket! See?!” Tetsurou threw on his Prada jacket and modeled it like he was in a fashion show, putting his hands on his hips and twirling around. “Isn’t it flashy?”

“Tetsu, come back!” Bokuto hissed from a few feet away. Akaashi didn’t seem bothered by the interruption, however, smiling down at his son and touching his hair lovingly, looking more relaxed than he had been in a while.

“Oh, so you must be Akaashi’s son!” The interviewer said.

“Yes, this is Tetsurou. Very charismatic, isn’t he?” Keiji laughed softly. Tetsu beamed under the attention and waved at Bokuto to come over to them; the hitman reluctantly did so, ready to be scolded for letting the boy run from him, but Akaashi smiled at him, too.

“Sorry…he’s faster than he looks,” Koutarou joked weakly, stepping closer. “Guess he gets that from you.”

“Indeed.”

The journalist was struck silent when Bokuto approached them; his eyes stared at the hitman for a long minute, going up and down and taking in the impressive sight before scribbling something down in his notebook.

“…So, Akaashi-san—are you currently seeing anyone during this romantic holiday season?”

That comment made Bokuto choke on his own spit, pulling Tetsu away so they wouldn’t hear what was sure to be an awkward answer; or, god forbid, Tetsurou’s _own_ opinion on that subject. They made a quick escape so Akaashi could finish his interview alone, but Bokuto’s excellent hearing caught the ballerina’s answer as they were hurrying away:

“I am seeing someone, actually. He’s a friend I’ve known for a long time—it’s nice to enjoy Christmas and New Year’s with someone I care about.”

 _Akaashi admitted he cares about me!_ Bokuto grinned to himself. _Too bad we’re being abstinent…oh well. Guess I can always jerk-off at home with the memories of the last time we were together, just like I did in prison, all alone…_

“Hey! What are you smiling at, mister?” Tetsu narrowed his eyes suspiciously, pointing at Bokuto’s lips.

“Oh, nothing! Come on, let’s go wait for your mom outside.”

Koutarou and Tetsu waited outside in the cold for only a few minutes before they were joined by Akaashi, looking as cute as ever in his black skinny jeans, heeled boots and fuzzy blue scarf—Bokuto wanted to eat him up, but Tetsurou beat him to it.

“Mommy, you were _amazing_ out there!” Tetsu cheered, letting his mother pick him up and kiss his cheek sweetly. “Bokuto-san and I were cheering really loud for you!”

“Mm. I heard.” Akaashi looked over at Bokuto, still holding that smile on his lips as he took out the yellow rose from inside his coat. “Thank you for the rose, Bokuto-san.”

“Oh, yeah! Anytime! I know they’re your favorite, so…” Koutarou coughed awkwardly, unsure how to direct his sexual thoughts towards more innocent ones. “Well, let’s get to the car and go home to warm up! I’m freezing my butt off.”

“Maybe you should have warn a coat instead of looking cool,” Keiji teased, even though he (and many other guests) enjoyed the view of seeing Bokuto in his black suit.

“No way, Kaashi! I’ve got an image to maintain!”

“For who?” The ballerina laughed. He quickly shut his mouth when Bokuto winked at him, silently walking them towards the parking lot; Tetsu filled the cold air with warm conversation, complimenting every part of his mother’s performance and abusing every part of Suguru’s. Bokuto could sense many people staring at them (probably because they looked like a family of supermodels), but the closer they got to Akaashi’s car, the more uneasy the fish fryer felt. There was a different kind of stare coming from the shadowed building just to the right of the stadium, on a hill looking over them. Tetsurou’s comments were lost to Koutarou as he side-eyed the area he felt uneasy about, blankly opening the car door for Akaashi and helping Tetsurou into his seat.

“Thank you,” The ballerina said, ducking inside. “Were you two hungry? Did you want to pick-up some food before we go home?”

“Actually,” Bokuto began, bringing his thoughts back to reality. “I forgot something inside. You two go on home and get some rest.”

“Aw man!” Tetsurou whined as Koutarou buckled him in.

“We could wait for you, Bokuto-san; it’s no problem.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ve been intruding on you guys enough lately.” Koutarou smiled through his worry, ruffling Tetsu’s hair up lovingly. “Sleep tight, Tetsu—I’ll see you at your concert, okay, bud?”

“You _promise_?”

“I promise.”

Tetsurou smiled that perfect smile again, but this time it made Bokuto defensive; he didn’t want anything or anyone messing with that smile. He knew he was lying to Akaashi and his son once again and felt terrible about that fact, but things were just getting comfortable between them—Koutarou wasn’t about to let any interference ruin that. Hopefully it would be nothing and he wouldn’t have to continue lying to Akaashi.

“Get home safely,” Keiji told him as Bokuto leaned on his window. “Are you sure you don’t want a ride?”

“I’ve got tough skin, ‘Kaashi! I’ll be okay, don’t worry.”

“…Alright. Thanks for coming tonight.”

“Duh! Congratulations on a great show,” The fish fryer smiled brightly. “Drive safe. Text me when you get home, okay?”

“Okay,” Akaashi nodded, sneaking in a pretty smile that made Bokuto’s heart race. “Goodnight, Bokuto-san.”

Koutarou waved one last time to Tetsurou and watched the Lexus merge into traffic; the second they were out of sight, the smile fell from Bokuto’s lips. Most of the ballet crowd had come and gone, but the night’s shadows became his friend as he snuck all the way around the stadium and entered the back alley. As a hitman, Bokuto knew very well when he was being watched, time spent in prison escalating those skills to an impeccable level; he hadn’t felt this type of angry adrenaline since he got out, strength fueling his smooth movements as he entered the black shadows of the building on the hill. He moved with the silent darkness, propping himself up on a dumpster as his glowing eyes broke through blackness and scanned the abandoned lot: there were no waiting cars, no one on the roof, but Bokuto spotted the bright gleam of a screen near the building’s corner.

 _Looks like I find the person who took all those pictures of Akaashi. Better go give him a warm welcome_.

The cameraman was going through several of his photos, zooming in on the one of Akaashi Keiji getting into his car; the picture was darker than he would have liked, face of his boss’ target hidden by the other man’s shadow. Unfortunately for the cameraman, the screen wasn’t dark enough where he would have spotted the silhouette of someone coming up behind him—before he knew it, the man was snatched by his shoulders and pushed backwards until he harshly collided with the cold brick of the abandoned building he was stationed by.

“W-Wait, stop, don’t—!”

Golden orbs similar to an owl’s glared down at him, their displeasure plain to see even though the winter night’s shadows masked his expression, and the man’s plea was cut short in terror. Just because Bokuto didn’t have any weapons didn’t mean he wasn’t the most dangerous man in Tokyo—the cameraman heard the rumors. There was plenty of reason to almost be pissing his pants as he was held against a wall by Bokuto Koutarou, who leaned in nice and close to have a discussion with the man he believed to be stalking Akaashi.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Bokuto growled at him menacingly, hot breath harsh against the man’s face.

“Please don’t hurt me!”

“Wrong answer.”

Koutarou shoved his forearm across the cameraman’s throat, pressing down hard against the oxygen supplier and heavily constricting its capabilities.

“W-Wait, pl-ease!” The other man coughed frantically, desperately but hopelessly trying to thrash out of Bokuto’s vice grip. “I’m just—fo-llowing— _orders_!”

“Your orders are to take creeper pictures of a mother and his son?” Bokuto hissed angrily, pushing his arm deeper against the man’s throat. “You work for some pervert or something?”

“N-No— _no_ —”

“Then why are you hiding? You obviously didn’t want to be caught, so tell me what your oh-so-innocent intentions are before I break every _single_ one of these grubby little fingers of yours.”

“It’s fo-r my boss!!!” The man heaved, eyes watering and struggling to stay open as his oxygen levels decreased drastically. “My boss wa—wants to speak with y-you, so—so I was t-aking pictures!”

Bokuto pulled his forearm back slightly, giving the cameraman a moment to suck in deep breaths—someone wanted to speak with him. That was never a good thing. Especially when everyone knew he had just been released from prison not too long ago. Koutarou had no interest in dabbling with the yakuza or any of their affiliates ever again, and he wasn’t about to tolerate some guy stalking everyone in Bokuto’s life just to get in touch with him.

“I have no interest speaking to someone who harasses a mother and his child,” Bokuto replied very clearly. “Tell him to go fuck himself.”

“A-After the holidays, he’s going to get in touch with you about some business, a job!” The man hurriedly continued before his breath was stripped from him again. “Please don’t hurt me, I’m just the camera guy!”

“You mean the _stalker_.”

The man had no response to that accusation, closing his eyes in fear and hoping he wasn’t about to be killed; Bokuto glared at him for a long minute, contemplating his options in the cold night air before slowly taking a step back, releasing the cameraman from his violent hold.

“Oh, thank you, sir!” He bowed gratefully. “Thank you! I swear, I won’t take any more pictures—”

Koutarou cut him off by reaching forward and unhooking the camera from the man’s neck strap. He placed it strategically between his large palms before looking the other man straight in the eyes and pushing his hands together—the camera made an awful, ear-punishing noise, square shape becoming nothing but broken shards of plastic and glass as the hitman from Fukurodani squashed it to bits. The cameraman could only stand there in terror, watching the completely massacred camera fall to the ground, now nothing but a completely unrecognizable wad of shattered glass and crushed plastic. It was safe to assume the memory card had been destroyed as well.

“I know you won’t,” Bokuto replied lowly, unsaid threats as clear as day. “Now get lost. If I ever see you hovering around Akaashi or Tetsurou again, your camera won’t be the only thing I crush. _Get the picture?”_

The cameraman nodded several times before taking the opportunity to sprint away into the darkness, leaving the hitman in the shadows of the night alone with his thoughts. Bokuto stood there for a long time, wondering who in the hell was stupid enough to think they could get away with some imbecile taking creeper pictures of Bokuto and his family—he didn’t know anyone that dumb back in the day, and it certainly wouldn’t be anyone from Fukurodani’s clan. That didn’t leave Bokuto with many ideas as to who the culprit could be, but he hoped whoever they were had been scared off by tonight’s display. At least the camera guy had been. Akaashi would hopefully be oblivious to the entire scheme; if he ever heard that someone had been stalking he and his precious son, there would be hell to pay, most likely starting with a move to the states or anywhere else Keiji thought they would be safe.

Bokuto wasn’t about to let that happen. The hitman prayed that whoever hired the cameraman understood that crushing a camera with his bare hands was the only warning they were going to receive.

~~~*~~~

Christmas Eve, the night of Tetsurou’s recital was a tense one, for both Bokuto and for Akaashi. The fish fryer had to work until six, get ready by six-thirty and be at Keiji’s by six-forty-five, all while still being greatly concerned about being followed and watched by an unknown subject. Bokuto had been taking extra precautions since the cameraman incident, setting up his own security system at his apartment, making sure Akaashi’s was working properly, even taking strolls around the ballerina’s neighborhood just to ensure no one else had a stalking set-up anywhere. Meanwhile, Keiji’s ballet practice had ran late, he spilled on his white turtleneck and had to quickly change outfits, Tetsurou’s hair needed to be fixed and he couldn’t forget to bring his hand bell for their third song.

And they had less than five minutes before they had to leave.

“Mommy, where’s my bell?!” Tetsu yelled from the living room.

“I put it in the pocket of your jacket,” Akaashi hollered back, hurriedly throwing on his own coat and scarf. “Be careful not to mess up your hair!”

Tetsurou came sprinting into the entryway, tripping on his own feet and nearly landing in a wet spot of the rug; Keiji released a relieved sigh when he saw that his son’s pants were dry, handing him his Prada jacket and making damn well sure that stupid bell was still in the pocket.

“Do _not_ take that bell out of your pocket until we get to the school, understand?” Akaashi said.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it!”

“Do you want a scarf, in case you get cold?”

“No way, I’m too tough for scarves!” Tetsu shook his head, nudging the scarf away.

“Well, take it anyway, just in case.”

“But I don’t need it, Mom.”

“Will you just take it, please? I don’t want you to be cold.”

“No thank you, ma’am.”

“Fine,” Akaashi rubbed his temple and shoved the scarf into his own purse. “I’ll hold onto it for you. Do you have everything, now?”

“Mhm! Wait—no!” Tetsu gasped, turning around. “I forgot my lucky bracelet!”

Keiji sighed heavily, praying his son didn’t spill or ruin his outfit on the way. Last year’s recital was disaster enough (a car that wouldn’t start, a stained sweater, bubblegum in hair, etc. etc.), and Akaashi did _not_ want to repeat the pattern and start a terrible Christmas tradition.

“Tetsu, I’m going to warm-up the car!” He called after his son, opening the front door. “I’ll be waiting outs—”

When Akaashi turned back around, he was startled by the sudden appearance of the ever-so-attractive Bokuto Koutarou, who had just walked down the front path and was waiting with his hands in the pockets of his grey suit. He had a white dress shirt partially unbuttoned (unfortunately, not so much where it looked intentionally sexy) underneath the suit jacket, a black belt that was clipped perfectly around his athletic hips and shiny black shoes that should not have looked as good as they did. Of course, he was probably freezing, given that it was December and he refused to wear a coat because it didn’t help his “image,” but despite that foolish pride, Keiji thought he looked incredibly well-mannered. Very much like a trophy husband from Nekoma. The ballerina stared at Bokuto with his mouth hovering open like a dumbass before Koutarou smiled and greeted him.

“Hey, Kaashi! Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas,” Keiji repeated as the fish fryer came closer. “You look…very nice.”

“So do you,” The taller man grinned. He just started to lean in for a quick kiss when Tetsu came running up in his Prada jacket, tying his lucky bracelet around his wrist. Akaashi mostly succeeding in combing his hair down, most of the black mess slicked to the side, although his front bangs were sticking out with traces of oil on their long strands. Bokuto had to bite his tongue to stop from laughing.

“We’re gonna be late, Mom!” Tetsu claimed, pulling on his mother’s arm impatiently.

“No we’re not.”

“Well, we should hurry, I don’t want to be the last one there! Let’s go, let’s go!”

“You heard the man, Keiji,” Bokuto said, snatching the boy up and hurrying to the Lexus parked out front. “Let’s get a move on!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming…”

Akaashi managed to focus on his driving instead of oogling his boyfriend and got Tetsu to the school just before seven. Koutarou couldn’t stop smiling the whole time, though, because this was the first formal event of his son’s he had ever been to—he was probably more excited than Tetsurou himself. The entire gymnasium was packed full with parents and cousins and friends, only a few remaining seats left, and Bokuto was shocked by the turnout.

“Wow. People actually care about this crap?” He accidentally said out-loud. Akaashi jabbed his elbow into the man’s side before ducking down to adjust his son’s outfit one last time, making sure Tetsurou had his oh-so-important bell tucked safely in his pants pocket.

“Do your best, sweetheart,” Keiji told his son, planting a quick kiss to his forehead.

“I always do, Mom!”

“I know.”

Bokuto gave Tetsu a high-five, reaching out to ruffle his hair up playfully.

“Knock their socks off, Tetsu!”

“Bokuto-san, his hair!”

“…Oops,” Koutarou rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, watching as his son ran off to join his class, black hair having been returned to its normal state of disarray. Akaashi sighed for the hundredth time that evening and grabbed Bokuto’s arm, leading him to some of the only available seats near the front of the gym; the chairs were uncomfortable as hell, and Bokuto kept squirming around trying to find a comfortable position, since he would be sitting here for the next three-hours or so. Listening to children sing. And attempt to play instruments. Attempting to sing _and_ play Christmas songs. For three hours.

_This is gonna be a long night…_

Once the first group of kids were organized, the lights were turned off, and Bokuto took the chance to lace his fingers through Akaashi’s, surprised when he wasn’t swatted away.

“Bet you an onigiri these kids sing Jingle Bells,” Akaashi murmured to him.

“You’re on.”

The preschool class began belting out the lyrics to Jingle Bells, and Bokuto accidentally let out a snorting laugh, which got him a harsh pinch from Akaashi, although he was also snickering. Despite the off-tune voices and rows of uncomfortable-looking children trying to lip-synch, Koutarou really enjoyed sitting there with Akaashi—this was something families did every year, something to look forward to, if only for the cute Christmas outfits. Keiji kept absentmindedly running his slender finger over Bokuto’s hand, back and forth, up and down, patiently waiting beside him for Tetsurou’s class to go on stage. Koutarou knew people could probably see them and were forming rumors in their heads already, but he didn’t mind—he just wanted to be close to Akaashi, whatever it took.

“This is agonizing,” Keiji whispered tiredly when the fourth group of children got off the stage. “I support kids being into the arts, but this is just…”

“It’s okay, I think Tetsu’s class is up, now,” Bokuto chuckled back, motioning to where Tetsurou and his friends were lining up.

“Thank goodness.”

“Now you know how I felt whenever I went to one of your shows back in the day.”

“Oh shut up,” Akaashi rolled his eyes, snapping a few pictures with his phone as Tetsu walked on-stage. “You got to see me dancing around in an outfit that barely covered my body—you were blessed.”

“You do look pretty appetizing in a tutu…”

“Shh. They’re starting.”

Tetsurou spotted his mother in the crowd and gave a tiny wave before their instructor gathered their limited attention spans; first, they sang Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree, followed by Feliz Navidad, which Terushima had a very… _loud_ solo in—they used their hand bells for Jingle Bell Rock, which didn’t go so well because not a single child understood rhythm. They were bar far, thee _worst_ singers out of all the groups, out of pitch, off beat, some not even singing the correct song, but everyone tolerated their attempts because their class was also the best dressed.

Kiyoko was wearing a pretty red velvet dress with a large red bow in her curled hair and matching sparkling shoes. Terushima had Christmas-themed overalls on to match his dark green button-up, unwrinkled black slacks and long socks with candy canes on them; he was standing next to Tetsurou, who was probably the coolest looking kid Bokuto had ever seen, wearing a crème cardigan over a red plaid shirt, black skinny dress pants and leather boots with red checker-print flaps folded over, one of the many pairs of shoes he got for his birthday. Even Taketora cleaned up nicely, though he was constantly itching at his brown turtleneck and constantly squeaking his dress shoes together.

Listening to Tetsu belt out the “heartbreaking” lyrics to Last Christmas was one of the most painful things Bokuto had ever gone through.

“This—This is so bad!” Bokuto told Akaashi, desperately trying not to laugh. “I can’t even—I don’t even know what to say!”

“Be quiet!” Keiji hissed without malice, unable to keep an amused smile off his own lips. He had stopped videotaping after the third song. “They’re trying their best!”

“I know, that’s what makes it so _awful_!”

Bokuto barely managed to make it through the performance, masking his laughter by clapping and cheering loudly as the children finally took their bow; thankfully, Tetsurou’s class was the last to perform, and all the parents hurried out to beat the traffic. Akaashi and Koutarou waited for Tetsu to help clean the stage, discussing how children should definitely _not_ sing heartfelt Christmas songs when they were approached by one of Akaashi’s friends.

“Akaashi-san, hello!”

“Hi, Runa-kun,” Akaashi nodded at Terushima’s aunt. “How are you?”

“Fine, fine! It took me and Hana two-hours to get Shima dressed, though—you know how uncooperative he can be when it comes to wearing pants…”

“Yes, I remember his birthday party last year.”

“Bokuto-san!” Tetsurou yelled cheerfully as he run up to the group, jumping into Koutarou’s awaiting arms. “Did you see me on stage? Wasn’t I great?!”

“You were…totally great! You really took out all your anger on that bell, didn’t ya?”

“Mhm! Hi, Runa-chan!” Tetsu greeted his friend’s aunt.

“Hey Tetsurou! You were great up there!”

“I know, right?” The boy smirked.

Runa was surprised to see Tetsurou act so excited towards Akaashi’s…friend. She looked between the two for a minute as Tetsu babbled about his bell skills, silently wondering if she had missed the 4-1-1 on Keiji’s new relationship. She knew this mystery man had been at Tetsurou’s birthday party, introduced as Akaashi’s ex, but something felt… _different_ from the way Hana had previously described him. He was standing closer than ever to Keiji, smiling at him whenever he got the chance, and Runa heard from another parent that they were even holding hands during the performance.

“Who’s this, Akaashi?” She asked, directing a smile at Bokuto. Runa didn’t miss the glance shared between Keiji and the taller man as the ballerina visibly hesitated to answer, well aware his young son was listening in on the conversation.

_Now’s as good as time as any, I guess…_

“Oh. Bokuto, this is Runa, Terushima’s aunt. Runa…this is Bokuto Koutarou,” Akaashi introduced with a nod. “My—boyfriend.”

Keiji glanced over at his son, hardly having to wait a second before Tetsurou let out a huge gasp and slapped his hands to his cheeks.

“I KNEW IT!” He shouted.

Akaashi blushed darkly and shook his head, but Bokuto seemed happy to be introduced as such, grinning at Runa as Tetsu squirmed excitedly in his arms.

“Oh! Hello!” She bowed to Bokuto. “It’s nice to see Akaashi with someone on his level—he’s always been the hottest single mother here, always subjected to terrible flirting by the divorced dads! Thank goodness that’s over.”

“You don’t say?” Koutarou raised his eyebrow, giving Keiji a playful look. “And none of them ever managed to charm him into a first date?”

“Never! But I guess good things come to those who wait, right, Akaashi-san?” Runa smiled knowingly.

“I suppose,” Akaashi mumbled, cheeks blushing darker despite his attempts to stop it. “We should get going.”

“But Mom, aren’t we gonna _talk_ about this?! This is HUGE!!!”

“We can talk about it later.”

“Man, I’m going to tell _all_ my friends at school on Monday!” Tetsu continued on as Akaashi said goodbye to Runa and hid behind Bokuto as they maneuvered their way out of the gym. “I knew Operation Love Spell would work, because fish fryer-san has loved you all this time, Mom!”

“I _know_ , Tetsu, just keep your voice down,” His mother begged.

“What a perfect Christmas, huh? Mom’s not single anymore, Bokuto-san got to hear me sing, and nobody threw-up on stage this year!”

“Yup. It’s certainly a Christmas miracle, huh, Keiji?” Koutarou grinned back at him.

“Both of you, _please_ be quiet…”

Tetsu and his father weren’t quiet, arguing about who loved Akaashi more the entire ride home. Bokuto thought he was winning because he had loved the ballerina since they were seventeen, but Tetsurou said that didn’t count, and that _he_ was winning because he had slept in his mother’s bed more than Bokuto had. It was a fair point, and Akaashi was only able to end the battle by telling the boys he loved them both equally.

“What?!” Tetsu exclaimed in shock. “You’re _killing_ me, Mom! No way you love Bokuto-san more than me!”

“I did _not_ say that, Tetsu.”

“Akaashi loves us both equally,” Bokuto explained as they drove up to the house. “It’s just a different kind of love! Right, Keiji?”

“Right.”

“Fine, fine,” The boy waved off, unbuckling himself and climbing out. “Hey, don’t I at least get a thank you?”

“A thank you?” Akaashi repeated while following the other two inside. “For what?”

Tetsu gave his mother a sassy look, stopping on the rug to cross his arms over his chest and stare in annoyance.

“ _Duh_ , Mom—for skipping out on paying at Bokuto’s fish cart! You never would have started dating again if _I_ hadn’t took charge!”

Keiji opened his mouth to protest, glancing over at Koutarou for help, but he just shrugged and smiled as he took his boyfriend’s coat off.

“He makes a good point,” Bokuto said.

“I do! So tell me all about it, Mommy.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Tetsu released a heavy sigh, plopping down on the couch and rubbing his face like he couldn’t believe he had to explain this so thoroughly. Bokuto sat down on one side of him, and Keiji sat on the other, frowning at his son and silently worried about which way this conversation was headed. Was Tetsurou upset he hadn’t been told earlier? Did he think they were going to get married, or have Bokuto move-in, now? Did he suspect that Bokuto was his?...no. Akaashi didn’t think Tetsu was _that_ suspicious. They didn’t talk about his biological father at all, mostly because the boy himself never asked—never-the-less, Akaashi was growing concerned about another year passing with Tetsurou not knowing who his real father was.

_One bombshell at a time…_

“What do you want to talk about, Tetsu?” The ballerina asked slowly. Bokuto could see the anxiety behind his midnight blue eyes.

“About you and Bokuto-san!” Tetsurou began excitedly. “How long have you two been secretly dating? Do you go on actual dinner dates? Do you buy each other flowers? Have you ever held hands? Do you kiss each other a lot?”

“Slow down, there, buddy,” Koutarou laughed, getting his son’s attention. “Why don’t we just tell you how we started dating, and you can ask questions after, alright?”

“Well…I guess that works. Okay, tell me _everything_! I wanna know every single detail!”

Akaashi and Bokuto gave each other a long look, then, their most recent memories replaying: there was the first tense meeting at the fish cart, their impromptu dinner that resulted in a tense and emotional confrontation in the kitchen…Akaashi crying at pictures of them, having breakfast for supper at the diner, which led to Bokuto attending Keiji’s first ballet show in over seven-years. Standing in the parking lot together, finally giving into each other against the Lexus GS, unable to resist temptation for longer than a day. They couldn’t tell Tetsurou about the night he was away at Kenma’s, leaving his parents to succumb to all their hidden desires and pent-up lust—they couldn’t tell Tetsu about the moment Keiji told Bokuto he was the boy’s father. They couldn’t tell him about sneaking kisses and touches in the kitchen, or even the late-night phone calls with half of their talk spent trying to say goodnight…

So what did that leave?

“You wanna know everything?” The fish fryer repeated, to which Tetsu nodded eagerly. “All right; here’s everything for you. Akaashi and I fell _desperately_ in love when I was eighteen, and he was seventeen. We went to movies, we went dancing, we ate crappy food at two in the morning…and then, after we dated for a while, we decided to move in with each other.”

Keiji was listening just as intently as Tetsurou was, starting to see where Bokuto was taking this.

“Do you remember what happened after that, Keiji?” He winked.

“…We moved into a nice apartment in Fukurodani,” Akaashi continued softly. “I worked at Leclair’s with Konoha while practicing ballet, and Bokuto was earning his business degree.”

“Ooo…”

“We went on lots of fancy dates whenever Akaashi had the time,” Koutarou grinned at his son. “We went on long romantic drives, we went to opera shows, all that fun stuff! And that was our routine for a few years. But then I had to prison for a while—and your mom had to move on. But deep down, we both knew the only person we wanted to be with for the rest of our lives was each other.”

“While Bokuto-san was away, I had you,” The ballerina explained, reaching out to touch a strand of Tetsu’s hair. “And we were apart for seven years. But then you found Bokuto-san at the fish cart and brought us back together; all we needed was a little nudge in the right direction. Once we started to get to know each other again…”

Here, Keiji didn’t know how to continue. It should have been easy to explain why he loved this well-dressed moron, but it had been a long time since he talked about his feelings on the subject out-loud. Luckily, Bokuto had it already planned out, staring at his boyfriend with a familiar, handsome expression that Tetsu could also clearly see the adoration behind it.

“Kaashi and I realized we couldn’t keep pretending that we still weren’t in love. So, right before your birthday, we agreed to start dating again! But we didn’t want to confuse you, so we’ve been keeping it a secret, just between us. Does that about cover everything?”

Tetsurou was very quiet for a minute. Akaashi could practically see his brain processing all that information, staring at the Christmas tree before looking between the two adults with a small smile on his face. _Is he upset?_ Keiji wondered nervously, barely able to breathe with how anxious he was feeling about the current situation. _Is he mad at me? Is he mad at Bokuto for ‘loving me more’? I hope not. Please don’t let him be angry. That smile could mean anything…maybe he’s happy?_

“So…do you have any questions, Tetsu-chan?” Bokuto dared to ask.

“No,” Tetsurou shook his head, still smiling. “I understand.”

“You do?” Akaashi asked, scooting closer to try and read his son’s expression better. “Really?”

“Mhm. You and Bokuto are…hmm, what’s it called…childhood sweethearts! You’ll love each other forever, and fate’s working together to make sure you get married and stay together!”

“I…suppose you’re right,” Keiji laughed softly. “Are you really okay with it, Tetsu? You can tell us if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, Tetsu, you have to tell us as soon as you feel weird about us dating.”

“I mean, it all happened so fast, so if you feel overwhelmed…”

“Right. If we’re being too touchy-feely, just let us know.”

“Not that we’ll be _too_ touchy-feely.”

“…Of course not! Well, maybe once in a while, but you wouldn’t understand, Tetsu—”

“ _Bokuto_.”

“Don’t ruin this perfect Christmas!” Tetsurou interrupted, standing up and holding out his arms as a signal to stop. “We should all go to bed right now so nothing bad happens and ruins this moment!”

Tetsurou sprinted up the stairs before anyone argued, and Akaashi couldn’t help but be overcome with soft laughter, burying his head into the nearest cushion as Bokuto leaned over and laid a kiss onto his hair. Akaashi didn’t really know why he thought Tetsu would be upset with them for keeping their relationship a secret—he so obviously adored Bokuto. He invited him inside for supper when he barely knew the man, went to an arcade with him, invited him to his birthday party, his Christmas recital…Keiji knew his anxiety had just gotten the best of him in this situation. He cared so much what his son thought, and he was dreading the decision he would have to make if Tetsurou didn’t take to Bokuto’s company. Thankfully, Tetsu was his father’s son, and he was open to new friendships and positive change. The ballerina really hoped that would rub off on him, eventually.

“And you thought he would be mad. Pft,” Bokuto snickered as the pair stood up. “The only problem we have is jealousy—we both love you a little too much,” The hitman teased, pulling Akaashi closer by his hips.

“I don’t deserve it.”

“Of course you do, ‘Kaashi. Now start walking that way so I can slap your ass.”

Bokuto got his own ass slapped (but not in a sexy way) as they walked up the stairs towards Tetsurou’s room, where they happily put Tetsurou to bed together for the first time. For once, Bokuto wasn’t thinking about what could have been, the diapers he could have changed when Tetsu was a baby—it was hard to think about anything aside from the cute Christmas pajamas their son was wearing, or how charming he was when he let Bokuto cuddle him up in his warm fleece blankets. Akaashi did most of the motherly stuff like making sure Tetsu brushed his teeth, washed his face and went to the bathroom before he got in bed, but Bokuto adored seeing that side of him; here he thought _he_ would be the fun parent and Keiji would be the stern parent, but so far Akaashi was beating him in that category, too. He made everything better. Maybe that was why Bokuto missed him so damn much.

“Mommy?”

“Yes baby?”

Tetsu snuck a glance at Bokuto, then motioned for his mom to come closer so he could whisper in his ear.

“Hey, are you guys talking about me?!” The fish fryer whined, leaning closer to try and hear. Tetsu squirmed back under his covers, looking at Akaashi hopefully as the ballerina smiled at Bokuto.

“Tetsu wants you to kiss him goodnight, too, since you’re technically his…step-boyfriend.”

“Oh! Okay! Sure thing!”

 _This is a lot of pressure_ , Bokuto worried, watching every move Keiji made as he leaned down to lay a soft kiss against Tetsurou’s cheek. _Should I kiss him on the cheek, too? Or maybe the forehead? I hope I didn’t creep him out when I did that the other night…oh man, did he tell Akaashi about that?! He’ll never let me near Tetsu again!_

When it came time for Koutarou to kiss Tetsu goodnight, he swallowed tightly and leaned down, pressing his lips against Tetsurou’s cheek like Akaashi did: this apparently pleased the seven-year-old, who gave him a precious little smile and let his eyes flutter closed. Bokuto adjusted the covers around Tetsu’s shoulders, making sure he was warm and comfortable before backing up beside Akaashi, whom he could also feel looking at him intently, though he was too flustered to weed-out what kind of expression he was wearing.

“Goodnight, Mommy. Goodnight, fish fryer-san.”

“Sleep tight, Tetsu-chan!” Bokuto whispered, following Akaashi out of the room. “And Merry Christmas!”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

When Keiji closed the bedroom door, Koutarou dropped his head and let out a huge sigh.

“Seriously, that kid is too adorable. Were we ever that cute?”

“I was,” Akaashi shrugged. “I’m sure you were…tolerable.”

“How can you be so mean to me on Christmas, ‘Kaashi?” Bokuto complained, none-the-less following the other into the living room, where they turned on some lame Christmas movie and sprawled out on the couch together. Koutarou was still whining after ten-minutes. “I try and I try to be nice and not tease you, and you pull this stuff! Konoha would be ashamed. Well, he would probably be helping you, but I was a cute-ass kid! You should’ve seen my ass back then—it was so round and red and adorable…next time I come over I’m going to bring you a picture for proof.”

“Please do.”

“I will! And you’ll see that I was just as cute as Tetsurou when I was a kid—”

The hitman’s words caught in his throat when a slender hand suddenly slid onto his thigh. Akaashi appeared to be paying more attention to the movie than to Bokuto’s ramblings, but his fingers had a mind of their own, tightening and loosening their grip on Koutarou’s muscles as the living room got quiet. Maybe it was a gesture to shut up, or maybe Akaashi knew just how much it affected his boyfriend, but either way, Bokuto didn’t say another word. He tried very hard to focus on the plot of the movie, gave weak laughs when a corny joke was told…but subconsciously, he couldn’t forget about the hand on his thigh, moving up and down and inside and outside, teasing him relentlessly.

 _I bet he’s testing me_ , Bokuto theorized, sneaking a glance at Akaashi’s impassive face. _He’s totally testing my self-control! Focus, Bokuto, focus. Forget about the hand on your thigh. Forget about those beautiful, long fingers squeezing and touching you…_

Koutarou managed to not respond for a solid thee-minutes, before Akaashi suddenly sat up and pressed himself right up against the other’s side; not a second was wasted, the ballerina immediately peppering kisses onto Bokuto’s neck, hands moving to grab onto his broad shoulders for support. His hot lips moved across the hitman’s skin like lotion, morphing into Koutarou’s entire being while his internal struggle increased madly. Akaashi was oblivious, kissing and sucking and making his way closer and closer to the man’s lips until Bokuto lost his composure.

“What are you trying to do to me?!” The fish fryer practically shouted, grabbing Akaashi by his arms to hold him away from his body.

“What?” Keiji asked, expression dangerously innocent. “You don’t want to fool around?”

“Well—Well I _do_ , it’s just—you said we weren’t going to be doing that stuff anymore, so I assumed you were testing me, but you know I can’t resist you forever, and Tetsu is upstairs, so I don’t know if I really feel comfortable performing _super_ inappropriate acts against his mother—”

Akaashi put a finger up against Koutarou’s lips, momentarily shutting him up so he could speak.

“Bokuto,” He began slowly. “I just sat through three-hours-worth of children singing Christmas carols with you in a suit sitting next to me, drank half a bottle of wine and got Tetsu to sleep early. I need _some_ kind of relief.”

Golden eyes sparked up with understanding, pondering those excuses for a quick moment. On one hand, he was giving into Akaashi’s seduction way too easily. On the other hand, he would please Akaashi by giving in, because a horny Akaashi was not a very happy Akaashi.

“Well…you do make a good point…”

That was all the permission the ballerina needed, throwing himself onto Bokuto’s lap and practically tackling him into the couch with a sloppy kiss. Koutarou wrapped his arms around Keiji’s waist and pulled him even closer, glad he had slipped his suit jacket off, because he would have definitely sweated through it like an animal. Akaashi seemed to agree, running his hands up and down the hitman’s chest as they kissed, just about to slide his tongue inside his boyfriend’s mouth when they pulled apart.

“Can I ask you something?” Bokuto said suddenly.

“Does it have to be right now?” Akaashi huffed against his lips.

“Well, yeah…”

Keiji sighed through his nose but relented, absentmindedly playing with Bokuto’s hair as their make-out session was paused.

“What is it?”

“The other day when I was talking to Tetsu, he said something about a first dad—what did he mean by that?”

That brought a total stop to Akaashi’s ministrations. He slowly sat up a little higher to gaze at Bokuto, dark eyes confused and panicked at the same time—that same panic and the reminder of his ex also made Akaashi realize something else.

“I love you, you know,” Keiji said.

Bokuto wasn’t expecting that response in the slightest, but his heart soared upon hearing those words. It was his turn to release a deep, satisfied sigh, laying his head against Akaashi’s and letting a happy smile drift to his swollen lips.

“You don’t know how nice it is to hear that after seven years,” Bokuto whispered appreciatively. “But you still have to answer the question.”

“I just…wanted you to know.”

Keiji thought for a long time, pondering over how he should explain this to his ex, who was now his beloved boyfriend once again: how could he explain his rebound marriage? He couldn’t explain it to himself without sounding like an idiot. Akaashi knew Bokuto wouldn’t judge him, was probably the least judgmental person he had ever known, and since the fish fryer had forgiven Keiji for not telling him Tetsu was his son, maybe he would forgive the ballerina for this, too. Akaashi really hoped he would. He didn’t like discussing his past mistakes, but couldn’t find it in him to cover this story up.

At least not completely.

“I was with another man for the first two-years of Tetsurou’s life. We lived with him, too, but he wasn’t too keen on taking care of Tetsu while I was at ballet, and once I signed a contract with Sana’s Ballet to do tours…well, he didn’t like it,” Akaashi shrugged. He was skipping _major_ details, but he hoped Bokuto wouldn’t notice. “I left him and took Tetsurou with me. Not that he really cared.”

“How could he not care?!” Koutarou hissed, nudging Keiji off his lap so he could angrily stand up. “Tell me who he is, ‘Kaashi, I’ll go give him a piece of my mind!”

“He’s not even worth the trouble, Bokuto,” Akaashi disagreed, reaching out to grab his boyfriend’s hand. “Don’t concern yourself with him. He hasn’t been involved in our life since I left with Tetsu. Please don’t worry about it.”

Someone who didn’t want Keiji to have a career, didn’t take care of Tetsu yet still wanted to date Akaashi…Bokuto thought back to the creepy photos, the cameraman he had berated at Akaashi’s recital. Could that man’s “boss” be Akaashi’s terrible ex keeping tabs on him? It was possible, but Koutarou remembered the cameraman mentioning that his boss was going to contact Bokuto about a job. That didn’t sound like someone Akaashi would have ever dated. That sounded like a _yakuza_ boss.

“He sounds possessive,” The hitman commented thoughtfully as he sat back down. “Was he really controlling?”

Keiji had a look on his face that said he didn’t want to discuss his past relationship, but he really couldn’t help but open up to Bokuto. Back in the day, he could always count on Koutarou to talk about everything and anything, work, dance, stress, money, friends…as much as he didn’t want to admit it, Akaashi felt the same way about his boyfriend now as he did when they were younger. He only hesitated a few seconds before responding.

“Yes. He was.”

“I can’t see you being with someone like that—you’re so sassy and assertive!”

“I only dated him in the first place because I thought he was busy enough at work where I would be left alone to do my own thing,” Akaashi admitted. “But…after a few months his real personality became clear. He was vindictive, selfish, had a bad temper and wanted me to be a perfect little housewife.”

“He sounds like a douche,” Bokuto said honestly, pulling his boyfriend closer and looking deep into his eyes. “But I’m glad you ended things with him before Tetsu was old enough to understand what was going on.”

“Me too.”

Akaashi managed a smile, then, cupping Bokuto’s strong jaw in his hands and running his thumbs over the stubble there.

“I wish it had been you,” He whispered.

His beautiful boyfriend sounded so sad and longing Koutarou didn’t care if he was being tricked or not—he grabbed Akaashi by the back of his neck and pulled him forward into a passionate kiss, earning a soft moan from Keiji almost immediately. Keiji let himself be dominated, kissing back against Bokuto’s powerful lips as they switched positions, the ballerina now encased by the hitman’s forearms while he was suffocated by kisses. Akaashi whined impatiently when Koutarou broke away; he had went seven years without kissing this stupidly handsome man, and he didn’t want to waste any time being away from his thick, pouty lips. As it turns out, Bokuto was thinking similar thoughts, only he had moved from kissing Keiji’s lips to kissing his neck.

“Kou—wait,” Akaashi hesitated, pawing weakly at Bokuto’s head. “Tetsu is upstairs…”

“I’ll be quiet,” Bokuto whispered, continuing in his quest to leave as many hickies on his boyfriend’s neck as possible. “Just let me do this for you.”

Keiji could never resist such a polite request, especially not when his neck was tingling and shivering from pleasure, leaning further into the hitman’s movements all while desperately trying to muffle his own sounds. Bokuto was relentless in his journey, kissing gently, then sucking at Akaashi’s skin like he was a vampire, followed by intervals of nibbling on the red marks he made on the ballerina’s throat. Keiji could have looked forever and not found a fuck to give about the hickies now painted all over his neck. He held onto Koutarou’s neck for dear life, sucking in a sharp breath when the fish fryer pulled his sweater down further so he could kiss the fragile skin of Akaashi’s collarbones—Keiji was trying so hard to stay quiet, but when Bokuto bit down on his collarbone he couldn’t help but whimper and throw his head back, lip biting doing nothing to stop the pleasured noises from spewing out of his mouth.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi gasped, eyelids fluttering closed in euphoria.

“Mm…you taste even better than before,” Koutarou teased against his skin.

“S-Shut up…”

When Bokuto finally relented, having successfully decorated his boyfriend with pink hickies Keiji was sure to punish him for later, he leaned back up to gently kiss Akaashi’s parted lips. The atmosphere slowed down considerably, Akaashi sighing against the other’s lips and letting his body finally relax; Bokuto adjusted them into a more comfortable position, nuzzling into the nook of Keiji’s shoulder as they cuddled on the couch. Akaashi let his eyes drift open just a pinch, just enough to admire the bright Christmas tree lights twinkling and glowing on their enjoined figures—Keiji couldn’t remember the last time he spent Christmas with Bokuto before he went to prison. But this would definitely be something to remember forever. Tetsu would make sure of that. And there were a dozen more cute pictures Akaashi had taken of Bokuto and his son that would certainly be printed and pinned on the fridge. And in scrapbooks. And anywhere Keiji could find room.

 _I’m so glad you’re back,_ Akaashi thought, pulling the fish fryer closer towards him _. I missed you…_

“Akaashi.”

“Hm?”

“Did that guy…did he ever hurt you?” Bokuto asked suddenly. “Physically, I mean?”

_This was the last straw. Shirabu had the audacity to call Akaashi’s ballet studio and lie, telling them he wouldn’t be attending the show tonight because he couldn’t find a babysitter. He wouldn’t have to find a babysitter if Shirabu would get his head out of his ass and parent for once, but apparently that was never going to happen. Akaashi heard the front door close around one in the morning—no businessman got home that late. Keiji couldn’t give a flying fuck if Shirabu was having an affair; he didn’t love him in the slightest. He just wanted him to act like a husband or father just once, and to not try to have control over every portion of Akaashi’s life._

_“What, no supper for your husband?” Shirabu complained when Keiji confronted him in the kitchen. “What else do you have to do all day?”_

_“Who do you think you are?”_

_“I beg your pardon?” The other man said, narrowing his dull brown eyes at Akaashi. Their attempt at intimidation didn’t work. Keiji came storming up to him with fire in his expression, pointing a finger right in Shirabu’s face as he went off._

_“What the hell gives you the right to call my ballet manager and tell them I’m not coming in?! What kind of psychopath does something like that just because he doesn’t want to take care of his own child?!” Akaashi accused. “If you think I’m going to let you behave like this without consequences, you’ve got another thing coming.”_

_“You better watch who you’re talking to,” Shirabu snapped at him darkly, taking a step closer. “Wives shouldn’t talk to their husbands so disrespectfully.”_

_Akaashi had half a mind to slap Shirabu right then and there, but he managed to compose his violent urges and scowled right back at his husband._

_“And **you** better watch yourself. I won’t hesitate to stab you in the back just like you have to me, over and over again, even when I’m trying to help this relat—”_

_“Help? Oh, and what do you do to **help** , Keiji-chan?” Shirabu sneered in his face. “You can’t cook, you can barely do laundry, you ship our son off to a babysitter every day because of your precious ballet, which you aren’t the best at, by the way. It’s only a matter of time before they get as sick of your bullshit as I am and fire your sorry ass, which will lead you where? Crawling back to me for some Prada money.”_

_“I’m so very sorry that I prefer a job that actually has meaning, ‘CEO Shirabu’,” Akaashi quoted with his fingers. “How can you stand there and accuse me of such things? You don’t even come home to see your son! You prefer to run around with your business friends, going to strip clubs and buying expensive sushi and whatever other useless shit you think will help your pathetic reputation!”_

_Shirabu stepped even closer, face inches away from Keiji’s as his expression darkened further._

_“You’re on the line, Keiji. Don’t push it.”_

_“And where the hell do you get off calling my boss?!” Akaashi continued, jabbing a finger into the other’s man’s chest. “You can’t be so controlling, Ken! It’s insane! We don’t live in a gender-based society anymore. If you can’t get your head out of your ass long enough to realize you are missing out on our life together, you can just—”_

_A hard slap collided with Keiji’s cheek. It wasn’t a powerful hit, but the amount of anger and fury it held fueled its intent. He didn’t even have time to feel pain before that same hand was on his throat, tightening and pushing him backwards, slamming him against the refrigerator. Akaashi’s eyes widened in fear, desperately begging his body to free itself, but he was so startled he couldn’t move a muscle. All Keiji could do was stare at the culprit bearing down over him, wondering and praying this wasn’t how he died. This couldn’t be it. He still had to see Tetsu grow up, go to school, play sports, make friends, graduate high school…he wasn’t going to miss those things, was he?_

_“I can **what**?” Shirabu hissed against his face, fury burning in his eyes and voice as he held Keiji against the fridge. “What are you gonna do? Call the police? Turn me in for abuse and neglect? I’ve got news for you, babe—I **own** this city. They aren’t going to put me in jail for setting my wife straight. They aren’t going to let you accuse me of anything. One call, a couple hundred bucks and I can make sure you never see Tetsurou ever again. Am I really someone you want to go up against?”_

_Akaashi could feel the pain, now, could feel the lack of oxygen getting to him as Shirabu tightened his grip, fingers wrapping around Keiji’s throat like it was a stress ball. Black spots clouded his vision, but Keiji could still see the disgusting, menacing expression of his husband staring back at him._

_“I dare you to leave me, Akaashi. See how far you can go before you come crawling back.”_

_Finally, that furious hand released Keiji, letting him sink to the ground gasping for air as his lungs screamed for oxygen; Akaashi coughed and sputtered for the next few minutes, barely aware his husband was still standing over him, watching the pathetic display like he was at a show._

_When Keiji managed to start breathing normally again, Shirabu kneeled down and grabbed his chin so he was looking right at him._

_“Good luck with that, ballerina.”_

Bokuto was patiently waiting for an answer, still cuddled against his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“No,” Keiji whispered. It was easier to die than it was to forgive himself for that stupid mistake, or receive Bokuto’s forgiveness. “He never hurt me.”

“Good. I’d ring his neck with some Christmas lights if he did. Or maybe I’d cut off the circulation of his nuts. That would be funnier, right?”

Akaashi laughed lightly, leaning Koutarou’s head back so he could pepper a few light kisses against his lips. Just to show that he appreciated the crude thought.

“I’m glad we told Tetsu about us,” Bokuto added with a grin. “Now I can kiss you whenever I want!”

“And slap my ass like you keep telling me you want to do?”

“I’ll settle for a pinch.”

The ballerina shook his head and cuddled further into Koutarou’s chest, only feeling completely safe when the hitman wrapped his arms around him. _Everything’s okay_ , Akaashi reminded himself, breathing in Bokuto’s scent. _We’re all okay, now. We’re together again. Everything’s fine._

“Merry Christmas, Keiji.”

“Merry Christmas, Bokuto-san. I love you.”

“Love you too,” He smiled. “More than you’ll ever know.”

~~~*~~~

New Year’s was a more uplifting occasion for Akaashi, because he remembered multiple Near Year’s spent with the rowdy Bokuto Koutarou, and now they were adding another happy memory to the list. Tetsurou insisted his “personal fish fryer” come with after he got off work, and Yukie insisted he leave early so he could get all dressed up and clean. Just when Keiji was getting used to seeing his boyfriend in suits again, he had to switch back to sexy casual civilian clothes; tonight, his outfit included considerably tight skinny jeans, high-top sneakers, a striped long-sleeve shirt covered by a stylish jean jacket. For saying Akaashi had turned fashionable, Bokuto hadn’t done too badly himself.

“Tetsu-chan!” He waved wildly when spotted by the mother and son. “Over here!”

The streets were covered with families and couples visiting shrines and food carts, people selling fireworks, good luck charms and clothing, but Akaashi didn’t care about any of that. He led Tetsu towards Bokuto, not taking his eyes off him the entire time and happily accepting a greeting kiss from the fish fryer.

“Hey,” Koutarou grinned at him.

“Hi. Happy New Year’s.”

“Hey, Bokuto-san!” Tetsurou cheered, tugging on the man’s jacket. “I’m so pumped we’re gonna spend the evening together! We’re gonna have so much fun!”

“Of course we are,” Konoha’s voice said, coming up behind them. “Because I’m coming, too.”

“Hey hey, good to see you, Konoha!” Bokuto greeted. “Do you guys mind if we give gifts, first? I’m really excited about the ones I got you guys!”

“Can we have gifts first, Mom, pleeeeeeeease?” Tetsurou begged alongside his father.

“That’s fine by me.” Akaashi had forgotten how to say no since Bokuto came stumbling back into his life.

“Sweet!”

“ _I_ will go first,” Konoha said, sliding a pretty envelope out of his bag. “Tetsu, this is for you. I didn’t write anything in the card because I know you just want the money, but I will tell you that I’m very proud of what you’ve accomplished this year, and I hope you know you can count on me for anything. Well, anything illegal, that is.”

Tetsu giggled and bowed, happily accepting the envelope and quickly counting the amount of cash inside.

“Wow, 21,000 yen!!! Thanks, uncle Konoha!!!”

“Two- _hundred_ dollars?” Keiji repeated in disbelief, giving his best friend a glare. “What is he going to do with that kind of money, Konoha?”

“That’s the beauty of not knowing, Akaashi.”

Bokuto snickered as his boyfriend sighed deeply, hurriedly confiscating the envelope from his son so he didn’t lose it on accident. Tetsu started to get a little nervous as he took out Bokuto’s gift, waiting for an okay nod from his mother before shyly stepping forward.

“Mom and I got you something, Bokuto-san,” He said, holding out a tiny box to the man. “We picked it out together…we hope you like it.”

“Of course I’ll like it! Let’s see, here…” Koutarou pulled out an adorable omamori charm, a navy blue shade with a grey owl stitched into the body. It was the ugliest owl he had ever seen, and that was why it was so cute. “An owl charm?! This is amazing, Tetsu!”

“You really like it?” The boy said hopefully.

“I love it!!! I’m going to take this with me everywhere I go!”

Tetsurou was smiling again as Bokuto gave him a big thank-you hug, shooting his mom a grin to show him the plan had worked. Even Konoha spared a smile at the scene, no doubt in his mind that the fish-frying idiot would carry that ugly charm around in his pocket every single day.

“I got you a gift, too, you know,” Bokuto told Tetsu, whose eyes widened excitedly. “I think you better check your pocket to find out…”

Everyone watched as Tetsurou gasped, feeling something in his pocket—he pulled out a small glass beckoning cat figurine, holding it up for everyone to see.

“A maneki neko!” Tetsu exclaimed happily. “Look how cute! And it gives me good luck!”

“Very nice,” Akaashi smiled. “What do we say to Bokuto-san?”

“Thank you, Bokuto-san! This is amazing!”

“No problem, buddy.”

As Tetsurou showed Konoha his new good luck cat charm, Koutarou turned to his boyfriend with a sheepish smile on his smile, fidgeting with something in his jacket pocket.

“I got you something, too, ‘Kaashi,” He admitted.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know, but…”

Bokuto pulled out the object from his pocket, revealing a beautiful origami crane decorated in midnight blue fabric, perfectly proportioned and pretty. The hitman held it out to Akaashi carefully, twirling the figure around to showcase its beauty.

“It’s a crane! I figure we could all use some good luck to start the new year off fresh, you know?” Bokuto explained, giving Keiji a meaningful look. “Crane’s live for a thousand years, and this one was just born, so it’s got a long, happy life ahead of it! Um, it…I may have also paid a lot of money for it, because of the nice fabric, but let’s forget about that for now, okay?”

Akaashi reached out and gently touched the crane with his fingertips, trying to contain his bright smile as he admired the origami creature.

“It’s lovely. Did you make it yourself?”

“Uhh, well…no, not so much. But I picked out the colors! Do you really like it, ‘Kaashi?”

The ballerina leaned forward and kissed Bokuto’s cheek, happily accepting the gift as Tetsu giggled on the side.

“I love it,” Keiji said softly. “Thank you.”

Akaashi tucked the present away very carefully before Tetsu began pulling them to shops and shrines all over the place, trying to gather as much good luck as he could. He showed off his neko to anyone who was interested, making Bokuto smile proudly—they talked to some friends and a few of Tetsurou’s classmates before Koutarou and his son decided they wanted food. Akaashi declined and was surprised when Konoha did too, walking on their own path as Bokuto took Tetsu to find some grilled meat.

“You said you were starving before we got here,” Akaashi commented suspiciously as he walked alongside his friend. “What gives?”

“I’m still starving, but I wanted to talk to you,” Konoha said, changing the carefree attitude between them. “Does Bokuto know about He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named yet?”

“…He doesn’t know his name, if that’s what you’re asking. But we’ve discussed it. Briefly.”

“Hmm…that must mean you didn’t tell him the entire truth. That he slammed you up against a fridge, threatened to blackmail you, told you he would take Tetsurou away, said he would pay off the cops to look the other way.”

“He doesn’t need to know about all that,” Keiji lied to himself. “Well, not right now, at least. We’re in the middle of rebuilding our relationship—I don’t want any of the past interfering on that. Tetsu will forget Shirabu even existed once Bokuto and I—”

Konoha was grinning at his bestie excitedly, waiting for him to continue his sentence.

“Once you and Bokuto _what_?!”

“Nothing,” The ballerina rolled his eyes. “Forget it. Why don’t you go get some food if you’re so hungry?”

“I thrive off gossip way more than I thrive off food, you know that, Akaashi!”

“Well you’re not getting another word from me.”

Konoha snickered under his breath and walked quietly for a few minutes, stopping at a brightly colored shrine as Bokuto and Tetsu ordered from a food stand nearby. He understood Keiji’s reluctance to mention his ex-husband, but the boutique owner had a bad feeling Bokuto would find out one way or another. And when he heard the details of how Shirabu treated Akaashi and Tetsu…well, who was to say he wouldn’t slip back into his old ways and wipe the bastard off the face of the earth? Not that it wasn’t a terrible idea. But murder was frowned upon.

“I did get you a gift, you know,” Akaashi said, reaching into his bag and handing Konoha a wrapped box. “Don’t worry, Tetsu didn’t pick this one out.”

Konoha pulled the wrapping off and flipped the box opened: it was an omamori charm, just like Bokuto’s, except the design on this one had a drastically different theme. It was pink instead of blue, and instead of an owl etched in as a cute symbol, this one had a bright purple dildo.

“Ha ha, very funny, Keiji,” Konoha rolled his eyes, waving the explicit omamori around. “Not all of us can find our soul mate again.”

“That’s not for finding your soul mate,” Akaashi laughed evilly. “That’s for finding someone to give you a good—”

“Okay, please shut up, now. I know what it’s fucking for.”

“Exactly.”

Akaashi was still laughing to himself when Tetsurou and Bokuto found them again, gobbling their meat as Konoha quickly shoved his omamori charm into his purse.

“Come on, guys, we’re going to find omikuji fortunes!” Tetsu said.

“We’re coming.”

“Some of us are,” Konoha mumbled.

“What does that mean, uncle Konoha?” Tetsu asked curiously, peering between the three adults. Bokuto pretended to be occupied with chewing as Akaashi glared at his friend and turned his son around so he couldn’t see him flip Konoha off.

“He was just joking around, Tetsu. Now, where’s this shrine we’re going to?”

“The fortune one is right over there! Let’s go!”

The group made their way to a beautiful shrine and decorated tree that had custom fortunes ready for anyone who dared take a peek into their future; Konoha grabbed his first, annoyed when everyone laughed because his had everything to do with loneliness and finding someone to be romantically involved with. Tetsurou’s was less optimistic, saying his business would soon lose a good amount of money in the near future, but it also gave a positive sign for his friendships. Bokuto’s was the most interesting so far, and he read it out-loud to their group for decoding.

“Good Fortune: ‘Forgiveness comes to those who try. Friendships are of vital importance. Temptation must be indulged.’ What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

“That’s a good sign,” Konoha nodded. “That means you and Keiji-chan must be hot and heavy, huh?”

“They’re _totally_ hot and heavy!” Tetsurou agreed, making his mother’s eyes widen. “They kiss each other like newlyweds or something!”

“No picking on ‘Kaashi and I because we’re in love!” Bokuto declared to the entire world, getting stares from people walking by. “We’ll kiss whenever we want!”

“This is getting out of hand,” Keiji sighed, unfolding his own fortune.

“What does yours say, Mommy?”

**FUTURE CURSE**

_Negaigoto (Wishes and Desires)_

_Arasoigoto (Disputes)_

_Ren’ai (Romance)_

**_“Every day your dragon’s fire grows weaker. The sun is getting too close to the crops. A flying bird always betrays itself to defend the sky’s honor.”_ **

_ Lies will influence your level of strength. A terrible fight is on the horizon. To protect and earn forgiveness, your mate will destroy their own soul. _

__

“What does it say?” Bokuto asked, trying to sneak a peek.

“Something about mild injuries and problems at work,” Keiji lied immediately. Why was his heart racing? “Let’s go to that shop over there, Tetsu; it looks like they have hot coco being sold.”

“Tis the season for money and coco!” Tetsu cheered, grabbing onto Konoha’s hand. “Let’s go, uncle Konoha!”

Konoha let himself be pulled away, and Bokuto was inclined to follow them, but not before he saw Akaashi tie his fortune to the shrine tree in hopes that it didn’t come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in other news, my "sleep meds" are not actually for "sleeping" and now i have terrible migraines. excellent! Happier news is that i'm commissioning another artist to draw hitman Bokuto! HELL YEA  
> Thanks for all the lovely comments, it's fun to see what you guys think! Until next time..


	6. "those common lies"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate shirabu's stupid fucking hair and his stupid bitch face and how mean he is to baby goshiki so that's why he's the asshole villain

_“I hope you’ll be happy_

_I couldn’t even say those common lies_

_I’m only praying that you’ll come back,_

_I’m sorry”_

Bokuto thought the lovely New Year’s he spent with Akaashi and Tetsurou (featuring Konoha) would have left a smile on his face for the next few days; unfortunately, his concern over the cameraman and the threat of his “boss” who was supposedly going to contact Bokuto after the holidays was getting to him. Whenever he thought of his boyfriend Akaashi and their _son_ , the hitman couldn’t help but become overwhelmed with love and hatred at the same time—the love was obviously because of Keiji and their precious son, whose domestic dynamics and perfect little life pulled Bokuto deeper into the happy fantasy he had imagined so, so many times over the years. He wanted nothing more than to continue dating Akaashi for a few years, marry whenever the ballerina felt comfortable, officially become Tetsu’s father and maybe start a motorcycle business (which was honestly, probably the one thing Keiji would be adamantly against.)

Koutarou wanted this life, could finally feel it within his reach, but…his bad feeling about the cameraman and Akaashi’s mysterious ex were slowly overwhelming that dream with darkness. Eventually, he had to take charge and do something about it. On Monday night, after Bokuto got off work at the fish frying cart, he went home, changed into the crispest suit he owned, and headed to Fukurodani.

 _Everything looks the same_ , Bokuto realized as he sped his motorcycle down main street towards Komi’s head office. _To think, all this time I’ve been changing, the world hasn’t changed a damn thing. Am I stuck in the past or something?_

When Koutarou parked across the street, he realized one thing _had_ changed during his stint in prison: Komi’s office was no longer a dreary, darkly lit building with remnants of an old sign faded on weathered brick. Instead, the building had been entirely renovated to a slick, upscale office that reminded Bokuto of Konoha’s boutique. Two stories had been turned into three, a nice large window with dark blue curtains covering it on the second floor, a sleek white coating covering the entire building, topped off with grand black doors at the entrance. There was also three tough looking men standing by those same doors, but Bokuto wasn’t concerned. He calmly stepped off his bike, adjusted his suit and determinedly stomped across the street.

“Watch it, buddy,” One of the men warned, stepping in front of Bokuto. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I need to see Komi-kun. Immediately.”

“Yeah, that’s not about to happen,” The smaller punk laughed. “This isn’t a walk-in clinic, dude. Get lost before we—”

The words were stripped from his throat as the golden-eyed man stepped as close to him as possible, staring down at him with irritation, eyes crunching together in serious displeasure. His thick figure hung over his victim like a jaguar waiting in a tree for its prey to get just a little closer; there was fire in his expression, which bled throughout his entire being as he stared down the person who was trying to stand in his way.

“Before you _what_?” Bokuto growled down at him.

The short man gulped deeply, only saved by another solider running onto the scene from inside—this one Koutarou recognized as Yamato Sarukui. He had just entered the Fukurodani yakuza shortly before Bokuto was imprisoned. His spikey hair was a bit longer, now, and he had fully grown into his tall stature and long arms, easily recognizable by his high eyebrows and overall pleasant personality. Sarukui seemed to recognize Bokuto as well, caramel eyes going wide with shock as he stopped dead in his tracks.

“Let him through.” Sarukui told the others firmly, all without looking away from Fukurodani’s most famous hitman. “Bokuto-san, please come with me; I’ll take you right to Komi-san!”

“Bokuto?” The short man said in confusion, glancing back at Koutarou and looking him up and down. “Not as in…”

“I—We’re so sorry, Bokuto-san!” His partner bowed lowly. “We didn’t recognize you! Please, go right in!”

Bokuto brushed passed them without another word, stepping through the door Sarukui held open and quickly following him up the staircase. They reached the third floor where there was only one black door, and Sarukui led him to it before giving a low bow.

“Komi-sama is right through here. Please call for me if you need anything.”

“Damn, you’re really all professional now, aren’t ya, Sarukui-chan?” Bokuto cracked a smile, reaching out to ruffle the man’s hair up. “Komi must value you a lot to have you holding down the fort, huh?”

“I guess,” Yamato agreed, trying not to grin back, although it already looked like he was smiling. “I’m a little surprised to see you here…you know, after what the clan leaders did to you…”

“Water under the bridge,” The hitman waved off, grabbing the door handle. “Just make sure you watch out for yourself, Sarukui—there are snakes everywhere in this world.”

“Right. See you later, Bokuto-san.”

Koutarou didn’t bother knocking and stepped right into Komi’s office, greeted by a bright blue glow that filled the entire room; a large fish tank sat right behind Haruki’s desk where he sat, going over the huge stacks of paperwork sitting beside him. He had a lamp on near his face, revealing his bloodshot eyes, furrowed brow and his habit of chewing on his bottom lip. Bokuto noticed these things briefly, but didn’t focus on them, because he was here on a mission, and he was determined to get to the bottom of things.

“Komi,” Bokuto said clearly, heading towards the desk. “We need to talk.”

“Wah—Bokuto?” Haruki rubbed his eyes, thinking he was hallucinating. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“Front door.” Koutarou sat in the nearest chair and leaned forward on his knees, expression dead serious. “Tell me everything you know about Akaashi’s first marriage.”

Komi gave a deep sigh and threw his pen down. He knew Bokuto would want to know someday, but this seemed a little too soon; he also knew Akaashi wouldn’t give his boyfriend huge details, but hadn’t they at least _talked_ about it? This was not a position he wanted to be in right now.

“Bo…I can’t just _give_ you these kinds of details. I would never betray Akaashi-kun’s trust like that, you know?”

“Well, you’re going to have to make an exception, because I’m not leaving until I hear the full story.”

The hitman sat back and crossed his arms like a child, pouting his lips and giving Komi a glare. Haruki knew he was never going to get rid of his best friend unless he provided some insight on Akaashi’s previous relationship. Bokuto was stubborn like that. So was Akaashi.

_How did I ever become friends with these big babies?_

“Fine,” Komi mumbled.

“Good! Now, where are the files?” Bokuto glanced around eagerly.

“There are no files.”

“Wah? What do you mean? Even if you erased the license or whatever, there should still be—”

“There are no records, Bokuto,” Haruki repeated, folding his hands together on his desk. “I erased that part of Akaashi’s life for good. That’s what he wanted.”

Koutarou was even more confused than before, staring at Komi in question as he slowly gathered his words, going back seven-years to remember the terrible details of the marriage that never happened. He remembered how unhappy his friend was, after losing his soulmate, marrying a man he thought would just be a boring, 8-5 husband, instead ending-up with a controlling narcissist who wanted nothing to do with Tetsurou. Komi hated thinking about it, didn’t like remembering how miserable Akaashi had been—but Keiji wasn’t the only one to suffer after Bokuto was set-up. Haruki felt the loss of his best friend and did his absolute best to make sure his remaining friend was taken care of, but back then, in those first few years…everything seemed utterly hopeless without Koutarou around.

“Akaashi rebounded after you went to prison; he met a businessman from Shiratorizawa and married him within weeks so he could make everyone believe the child was his.” Komi began. “We made Tetsu out to be premature, and things worked out with that, but shortly after Tetsu was born, this husband of his showed his true colors. Staying out late, refusing to babysit Tetsurou, wouldn’t let Akaashi go anywhere, hated when he had to be away all day for ballet…long story short, he was a _total_ control freak.”

“…What was his name?” Bokuto asked with tight lips.

“Shirabu.”

“Ha. Shirabu…what a loser.”

“That he was,” Haruki snorted. “A piece of work, that guy…luckily Akaashi only let the bastard hit him once before he left.”

That definitely got a reaction out of Bokuto, who sprung out of his chair and stared a dark hole through Komi’s head, eyes ignited with fury.

“What?” The hitman said blankly, not believing what he had just heard. “But…Keiji never said…this bastard had the nerve to hit _Akaashi_? How do you know that?!”

“He told me everything the next day. Called me up crying, begged me to let him and Tetsu come to the office so we could talk,” Komi explained, hoping to calm down Bokuto with some positive information. “We talked a lot, and we decided it was best that we forget the whole thing ever happened. I took care of the divorce, the papers, made sure Shirabu’s name was erased from memory—he threatened Akaashi a lot, but once he heard who was helping him, he backed off completely. Akaashi hasn’t heard from him since.”

After a long minute, the hitman finally sat down, though stiffer than before, mind racing as he recalled the conversation he and Akaashi had about his ex. Bokuto could have sworn his boyfriend was telling the truth. Keiji had never lied to him before. To be fair, Koutarou had lied plenty, but it was just strange to him because Akaashi once said he only lied when absolutely necessary.

“So that’s why I couldn’t find a marriage license or a name on Tetsu’s birth certificate,” Bokuto murmured to himself.

“Yup. Luckily, they didn’t co-buy or rent anything, and once Akaashi-kun made his first million, he was able to buy his own place in Nekoma as far away from Shirabu as possible. He was worried he would have to put a restraining order on the prick, but Shirabu couldn’t give a damn what Akaashi was doing once they separated—he didn’t give a damn when they were together, anyway.”

“You really helped him out, huh?”

“Of course,” Komi nodded, sparing a tiny smile. “I wasn’t going to just let him and Tetsurou face the world on their own. I’ve been keeping an eye on Shirabu, too, just in case, but the guy I had watching him lost his location suddenly. He disappeared about six years ago or so.”

“Disappeared? Are we sure one of his ex’s didn’t sneak out and give the bastard what he deserves?”

“Possibly. Either way, I’m going to make sure Akaashi and Tetsurou are safe. But I’ll admit, it’s nice having you around again, Bokuto.”

“Same here,” Koutarou nodded sincerely. “I’m grateful for what you’ve done. For keeping Akaashi and my son safe…I owe you.”

“Consider us even,” Haruki grinned, standing up and holding out his hand towards Bokuto. The hitman shook it just as firmly; it almost felt like they were oath brothers once again. Before that nostalgic pain could overcome him, Koutarou released his grip and headed towards the black doors, chewing on all the information Komi had given him.

“By the way, what made you so curious about Shirabu all the sudden?” Haruki called after him. “Did you and Akaashi-kun discuss it?”

“…You could say that,” Bokuto nodded, hand on the doorknob. “I’m gonna hit the gym—see you later, Komi.”

“The gym? It’s past eleven, dude.”

“Fair enough,” The hitman turned, giving Komi a dangerous, secretive smile he had never seen before. “But I’ve got to stay in shape for whatever the future brings.”

~~~*~~~

Even though Akaashi had spoiled his son on his birthday and New Year’s Eve, he thought it would be good for them to spend some quality time together; when he asked Tetsu what he wanted to do on Keiji’s rare weekday off, Tetsurou, who always found a way to have fun without paying a dime himself, said he wanted to go to a spa. And so, being the sucker he was, Akaashi took him to the best spa in Nekoma, where they were currently bathing their feet in the pedicure spa tub and wearing white bath robes with moisturizing clay on their faces. Tetsu also wanted to have his nails “prepped up,” so he had his hands loosely resting on the armchairs as they dried.

He was a diva if Keiji ever saw one. But he looked relaxed, calm, soothed by the warm air and refreshing mask covering his face—Akaashi hadn’t felt this relaxed in a long time, either, probably since his son pulled Bokuto back into his life. It was nice to take a break from Suguru’s nosy ass, all the hustle that went on at the ballet studio and the cold winter they were having. For a few hours, Keiji could let his mind drift where it wanted, free of responsibilities and worries about the future. At least, that was the plan—it worked for a while, but then Akaashi got to thinking about whether or not he was creating some kind of monster in Tetsu by treating him to lavish surprises.

 _Never-the-less, for how spoiled Tetsurou is_ , _he isn’t as vain as you would expect from a privileged child_ , the ballerina thought to himself, peeking over at his son. _Does that mean I’m a good mother, or that I’m in denial about how much of a brat he is? Oh well…I’m in denial about a lot of things._

“Tetsu.”

“Hm?”

“You would tell me if you were feeling sad or confused, right?” Akaashi asked seriously.

“Duh! I love talking, remember?” Tetsu replied.

“Of course. But…you would let me know if something was making you uncomfortable or confused, wouldn’t you?”

“Where are you going with this, Mommy?” The seven-year-old exhaled deeply, sinking deeper into his chair.

Where _was_ Akaashi going with this?

“Well…you know how Bokuto-san and I are dating?” Keiji began slowly. “I want you to be comfortable talking to me about your feelings on the subject. If things are going too fast for you to comprehend, or if you’re starting to get nervous about how much time Bokuto is spending with us, I want you to promise you’ll tell me, okay, Tetsu?”

The boy peeked his golden eyes open and glanced at his mother seriously, considering the matter for a moment; he didn’t know why Akaashi would think he _didn’t_ like fish fryer-san, but maybe that was just what mothers did. Tetsurou felt good about Bokuto being in their life, wanted him to stay forever and marry Akaashi one day so they could all be a family. He didn’t think he would ever be uncomfortable with the man’s presence, but he promised his mother anyway.

“I promise,” Tetsu nodded certainly.

“Good boy. Is there anything you need to tell me now?”

“Hmm…well Mom, I think fish fryer-san and you were a match made in heaven. You’re going to be together forever, and one day we’ll move into a mansion together when I win a Noble Prize for astrophysics!”

Keiji laughed gently at that and relaxed deeper into his spa chair—he knew he shouldn’t have been worried about Tetsu. He was always more adjusted than his mother. Tetsurou had a way of becoming friends with everyone he talked to, and it was only natural that he adore the person he inherited that trait from. On the other hand, Tetsu also inherited _other_ traits from his father, like his unmanageable energy, love of talking loudly, his excitement over the smallest things and his wild range of emotions. Luckily for Akaashi, Tetsurou had lived with him long enough to manage his exuberant mood swings better than Bokuto did.

_Sometimes I wish he was more like Bokuto-san, though…_

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” Keiji told him. “Just remember what I told you.”

“I will!”

The pair fell into comfortable, soothing silence, listening to the sound of the water bubbling over their feet. Akaashi was ready to fall asleep at any given moment, but Tetsu alerted him when their spa time was up, and the mother and son got dressed and headed home. Keiji was thankful that the relaxing treatment soothed his son enough where he wasn’t using his terribly loud inside voice in the car; in fact, he didn’t speak at all for several minutes, humming a song to himself and feeling how smooth his cheeks were. The ballerina peeked in the mirror a few times just to adore the boy’s serene expression as he stared out the window—Keiji wished Tetsurou could feel this relaxed and safe all the time. But deep down, he was still scarred from his relationship with Shirabu and sometimes wondered if he was making a mistake by letting Bokuto back in their life.

 _Kou isn’t like Shirabu_ , Akaashi firmly reminded himself, watching Tetsu fiddle with his purse in the backseat. _He would never hurt me or Tetsurou. Unlike Shirabu, even though Bokuto was a…hitman, he’s still capable of loving deeply. I know him well enough to admit that._

_Right?_

Akaashi heard his phone go off, and that was the end of their quiet car ride.

“Mommy, you got a text from the fish fryer!” Tetsurou said, waving the cell phone around.

“What does it say?”

“He said ‘Brought you two dinner, but no one’s home!’ Except he spelled the word two with an actual number two, and he added a crying emoticon after.”

“Ha,” Akaashi snorted. “Tell him we’re on our way right now.”

Tetsu texted back a response, but he was taking much too long for someone who was just saying they were on their way. After a minute of clicking, Keiji became suspicious.

“…Tetsu,” He asked with a cocked eyebrow. “What are you texting?”

“What you told me to!” The boy claimed, hurriedly slipping the phone back into his mother’s purse.

“Uh huh.”

“Honestly, Mom!”

When Akaashi and his son drove into their driveway, Bokuto was already waiting by the front door with his arms crossed, casually leaning against the frame. He waved them in and met them halfway—and that was when Keiji noticed…well, everything. Bokuto had to have just finished working out at the gym; his navy blue t-shirt was still damp, clinging to the parts of his toned biceps where the most moisture was. The shirt was looser than his usual choices, cascading down to black joggers that fit just right, side zippers open and revealing his white Adidas sneakers that, remarkably, had no scuff marks on them. They must have been brand new, but Keiji couldn’t care to ponder about that detail, because he was too busy ogling his sweaty boyfriend.

This was a style Akaashi hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing in over seven years, and it definitely had a dramatic effect on him.

“Hey hey, Tetsu, my man!” Bokuto ruffled his son’s hair up playfully. “How was the spa?”

“Super chill! I got my fingernails done, got to wear this squishy mask thing on my face, and I even got to stick my feet in a pedicure hot tub!” Tetsurou explained happily. “What kind of food did you bring?!”

“Chinese.”

“Ah, Zhōngguó rén shì shìjiè shàng zuìzǎo de dìngjū diǎn zhī yī!” He spat out fluently, making Bokuto’s mouth drop open. “Tāmen de shíwù bǐ māmā de shíwù xiānjìn dé duō!”

Tetsu zipped past Koutarou and into the house, leaving the hitman standing there with his mouth dropped open—he looked over at Akaashi for an explanation, but didn’t receive one, since Keiji was even closer to the work of art and was nearly incoherent.

“Um…why…what the hell did he just say?”

“I wanted him to be bilingual, so I started teaching him Chinese when he was a baby,” Keiji answered blankly. Koutarou’s scent was poisoning his mind, asking him to do terrible, unholy things to the sexy man standing in front of him.

“But…neither of us speak Chinese, Akaashi.” Bokuto reminded him.

“Yes.”

Bokuto was still confused, but he shrugged it off, surprised when the ballerina put a hand around his waist as he started leading them to the door. It reminded the fish fryer of when they were teenagers, and he couldn’t help but smile over at his boyfriend and return the gesture.

“Were you working out?” Keiji asked, unconsciously sniffing so he could get a deeper whiff of his boyfriend’s luscious scent. “Your shirt is still damp…”

“Oh, yeah, I started lifting weights again,” Koutarou explained casually. He popped his free arm up and flexed it, unknowingly almost giving Akaashi a heart attack. “I didn’t have time to shower, but I can go do it before we ea—”

“No!”

Keiji nearly slapped a hand to cover his mouth, but Bokuto was wise to his indecent feelings and grinned at him, pulling the slender ballerina closer by his hips to give a slow kiss against his lips. Akaashi leaned into it peacefully, making sure he got a good grip on the taller man’s biceps, just for a little feel. Tetsu shouted something from inside, prompting the two to break apart before things got too heated.

“Alright then,” Bokuto agreed lowly. Keiji didn’t know whether he should smack the grin off his soulmate’s face or kiss it again. “By the way, what’s with this weird text you sent me?”

“That was Tetsu,” Akaashi sighed. “What does it say?”

Koutarou opened his phone and showed the text to Tetsurou’s mother.

😍 **KEIJI!!!** **😈** : _We’ll B home soon, loverboy! Save some kisses 4 me. And some food. TTYL BABE_ _(6:45 p.m.)_

“…And he added several strange emojis that aren’t really relevant to the context.”

“Ugh. Sorry…what emoji did you use by my name?”

“Nothing,” Bokuto covered, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Just some heart-eyes!”

“Was the other one a _devil_?”

“It’s not what you think, ‘Kaashi! A devil is a good thing, that means you’re, uh…promiscuous!”

“And that’s a good thing?” Keiji narrowed his eyes.

“Sexy, I mean! Like an incubus!”

Despite Akaashi’s momentary irritation, he allowed Koutarou to lace their fingers together and tug him inside, where Tetsurou was waiting patiently at the island surrounded by a dozen boxes of Chinese food.

“How was your day, sir Bokuto?” Tetsu asked while efficiently scooping noodles off his plate like a king.

“It was great! Guess how much I squatted at the gym?”

“Hmm…according to your body type, level shoulders, strong waist and solid arms, I’m going to guess…” The seven-year-old actually seemed to be doing math inside his head. “Four hundred and fifty pounds?”

Akaashi would have laughed when Bokuto’s mouth fell open yet again, but he was too preoccupied with the delicious idea of his boyfriend kneeling down, all the muscles in his body tensed as he held over four-hundred pounds on his toned shoulders…maybe he could buy a copy of the security tapes. For later reference.

“You little twerp! I thought I was really going to impress you!” Koutarou whined, lightly poking a finger into Tetsurou’s side and making him squirm.

“It _is_ impressive!” Tetsu squeaked in a giggle. “You’re like a superhero, Bokuto-san!”

_The man in the white suit was his target: he was surrounded by bodyguards, but he wouldn’t be for long. He had picked up a woman, some call girl who didn’t know what she was getting herself into; they were getting into his car to drive a few blocks to a fancy hotel, and that was where his executives and soldiers wouldn’t be. Other people would have tried sniping the man from where they were stationed on the roof, but Bokuto didn’t like long-distance shots. It gave away positions too easily. The best option was to wait until he and his mistress were in the car at the motel—and so, Bokuto followed them on-foot, waiting, waiting, silent as a mouse under the hustle and bustle of Osaka, merging into the darkest shadows as the car drove up to the hotel._

_Within four steps, Bokuto was near the car. Three quick steps more, and the man was opening the car door, unknowingly providing a perfect opportunity for his own demise. One more step. Bokuto didn’t wait for the man to turn his head, pulling a handgun out and quickly delivering three shots; one to his head, one to his jugular, and another in his chest. Blood splattered, particles of mashed brain flew out onto the girl in the passenger seat, but she was so shocked she couldn’t make a sound. If she had looked, all she would have been able to describe was an arm holding a gun—Bokuto didn’t stick around for another second. He knew the girl wouldn’t call the police, being in her sensitive career, and within another minute or so, he was inside his own car, parked a block away._

_A few blood splatters had stained his suit, but Bokuto threw it in the backseat and went to pick up Akaashi from his show._

“Sure,” Koutarou gave a weak smile. “I’m your superhero.”

Akaashi’s cell phone suddenly rang, signaling a call was coming in; Bokuto continued eating with Tetsu, watching and listening to understand the purpose of the caller.

“Hey, Konoha,” Keiji answered. “…Right now? What for? …Oh…yeah, I suppose I can sneak away for a while…alright…sure. See you in a bit.”

“Trouble on the front?” His boyfriend questioned through a bite of noodles.

“Konoha needs some help at the boutique. Will you two be okay if I slip away for a while?”

“Of course, Mom!” Tetsurou nodded eagerly. “I can babysit Bokuto-san while you and uncle Konoha get try on clothes!”

Tetsu’s devilish snicker after-the-fact told his mother he wasn’t about to play nicely once Akaashi left. He lightly tugged on the boy’s ear before sliding his winter coat back on, snatching his keys off the counter as Bokuto followed to the door (just to make sure he got into his car safely. And because he looked good from behind…)

“I should be back in an hour or so. Two hours, tops.”

“Sounds good—we’ll save some food for you.” When Keiji turned to face Koutarou, the other man was twirling a warm scarf around his neck, tucking it in around his throat snugly. “Don’t forget this; we don’t want any cute ballerinas freezing out there.”

Bokuto sealed the thoughtful scene off with a big peck to Akaashi’s cheek, which immediately flared with dark blush. _Ugh…how could I ever think Kou is anything like Shirabu?_ He wondered silently, ducking his head and opening the door. _He’s just so…so…sweet. And also frustrating. But mostly sweet, I think._

“Thank you. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Bye, Mommy! Love you!” Tetsu waved with his chopsticks in the kitchen entryway.

“Love you, too.”

“Drive safe, Keiji.”

After the hitman watched his boyfriend drive off, he turned around to find Tetsurou holding onto his jeans and grinning up at him with evil intentions.

“Now we’ve got the house alllll to ourselves, sir! What should we destroy first? The fireplace? The attic? Mommy’s white pants?”

“Haha…as tempting as that is, we better fill our appetites before destroying anything, don’t you think?” Bokuto suggested instead. “Come on, let’s go finish our dinner.”

“Aww, okay…” Tetsu sighed. “But after that, we’re going to practice math, okay?!”

Bokuto put off practicing mathematical equations as long as he could, even washing and drying the dishes before Tetsurou demanded they go to the living room so he could practice from his workbook. And that was where Koutarou spent the next half-hour, torn between boredom and amazement as he watched his son try to work out difficult equations that seemed to include way too many letters and symbols. How Akaashi found the time to teach Tetsu math, economics, business and Chinese, the fish fryer didn’t understand. Did he have to use the Internet to check his son’s answers like Bokuto did? He he use Google Translate whenever Tetsurou popped out some Chinese word, just to make sure it wasn’t a curse?

“Alright, two pages done, three to go!” The child exclaimed like that was a good thing. Bokuto quickly jumped to take a little break, because his head was spinning with all the numbers and rules and letters and whatever hell else these inhuman math equations involved.

“Hey Tetsurou, can I ask you something?”

“Can I ask _you_ something?” He retaliated with bright eyes.

“Me first!”

“Okay, okay…”

Bokuto nudged Tetsu into a lounging position, setting his son’s feet on his own lap as he thought of something to say before Tetsurou lost interest—he could ask about school, his friends, or how he liked his New Year’s present, but there was only one topic that Bokuto desperately wanted more answers for. He had spoken to Komi, had briefly spoken to Akaashi, but what he really wanted to hear was _Tetsurou’s_ take. Maybe Keiji would be upset if Bokuto asked their son…maybe he would even be furious, but if Tetsu knew more details that his mother didn’t disclose, details that could help fill-in the blanks, it could be useful to everyone involved.

“Do you remember your first dad, Tetsu?” Koutarou dared to ask, peeking over at his son to read his expression.

“Hmm…just a little,” Tetsu shrugged, putting his hands behind his head. “He never came home a lot, I think. Mommy said he wasn’t a very nice person, so that’s why they got divorced.”

“I see. Did…Did your mom tell you anything else about him? Does he have any pictures?”

“I don’t _think_ so. But uncle Konoha says he was really sneaky and rich, and that he didn’t deserve my mommy and me.” Tetsurou lost himself in thought for a second. “Why?”

Koutarou scooted a little closer, smiling down at his son as to not worry him.

“Well, I was just asking in case you needed to tell me something,” Bokuto explained. “Something you’ve never told anyone else before. That’s what partners do, right?”

That made Tetsurou stop and stare, golden eyes peering up dreamily into his father’s own—he didn’t break eye-contact, didn’t blink, just gazed up at Bokuto like he had discovered something significant. Suddenly, Tetsu reached up with his tiny, childish hands, slowly letting them drift to Koutarou’s face, where his warm fingertips traced over the hitman’s chin and jaw. He remained completely still, soaking in the gentle sensation as his son’s lips parted.

“…Mommy does that, too,” The boy whispered.

“Does what?” Bokuto hummed. He wondered if Tetsurou could see the stars in his eyes like he saw Tetsu’s.

“Cares about me.”

Plenty of situations made Bokuto’s heart skip beats, mostly involving Keiji (and a couple murders…), but this was an entirely different type of heart palpitation. This one was filled with so much love, so much worry and fear it almost made the fish fryer’s heart stop beating completely. His lips opened, ready to expose the real bond he and Tetsurou shared, but the seven-year-old beat him to it.

“Now can I ask _my_ question, Bokuto-san?” Tetsu pleaded dramatically. Was this how Akaashi felt whenever Koutarou’s moods jumped from calm and serene to excited and energized?

“S-Sure! What…What is it?”

Tetsurou sat up, now wearing his signature devilish grin as fire lit in his cat-like eyes.

“Can I ride on your motorcycle?!”

“No way!” Bokuto laughed. “Your mom would kill us both!”

“Well, yeah, but if we’re going to die, we should at least have some _fun_ , right?!” Tetsu reasoned like all children do. “Mom can’t kill us if we drive away whenever he wants to yell at us!”

“Listen, Tetsurou—don’t underestimate your mom. He’s more watchful and dangerous than you can ever know. If he finds out I took you for a ride on my bike—and he _would_ find out—there’s no telling how hard of spankings we would get!” _Well…maybe that’s more of a gift than a punishment_. “How about instead of riding one, we watch some bike shows on TV; deal?”

Tetsu considered it for a moment, smiling oh so innocently as he stuck his hand out and let Bokuto shake it firmly.

“Deal!”

And that was how Akaashi came home two hours later to find his seven-year-old sprawled out on his boyfriend’s chest as they slept on the couch, faces and fingers covered in orange Cheeto residue and unfinished math problems scattered on the coffee table.

~~~*~~~

This winter week had been very strange, indeed. First, Akaashi got a weekday off; then, on Friday, their conductor let them out two-hours early since they had been preparing so hard for Saturday’s showcase. Keiji didn’t know what to do with all this free time and spent half of the afternoon shopping before he stupidly realized Bokuto had the day off, too—thankfully, the ex-hitman didn’t have any plans and was planning to stop by later, so he met Akaashi at his house around two p.m.

“Hey hey hey, ‘Kaashi!” He greeted, running up to help the ballerina with his shopping bags. “Jeez, did you buy the entire store?”

“…That’s not relevant,” Akaashi murmured, somehow ending up with no bags on his arms. “Hey, you don’t have to carry all—”

“So! What mischief do we have planned for the rest of our afternoon, Keiji?” Bokuto asked curiously, following his boyfriend inside. “Some kitchen sex, maybe some dodgeball in the yard…oh, watch out for that ice patch. How about binging that show you like so much?”

“I don’t think kitchen sex is as casual as your other options, Bokuto.”

The fish fryer snickered to himself, refusing to hand off the bags until they were in Akaashi’s bedroom, where he plopped himself on the bed to watch his beloved little ballerina put away his new clothes. It was peaceful, watching someone so elegant and lithe stroll around their room, comfortable and focused; maybe Bokuto was just a sap, or maybe the loneliness of those seven years in prison were finally catching up to his current emotional state, but these brisk, snowy winter days made it seem like he was falling in love with Akaashi all over again. The room was quiet as Keiji’s soft steps bounced from one place to the other, not knowing he was being gazed at.

“I was thinking we should clean,” Akaashi prompted, catching Bokuto’s disappointed mouth drop. “I haven’t swept or vacuumed or cleaned out the fridge in weeks. We should also do some laundry. Tetsu goes through socks like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Well…I _guess_ we could do some cleaning…”

Keiji knew Koutarou didn’t exactly enjoy making things neat and tidy like he did, so to convince him, the ballerina glided over to his boyfriend and put his hands on the hitman’s shoulder’s, looking him deep in the eyes with a puppy-eyed look.

“Come on,” The unfairly attractive younger man insisted, as if he didn’t know he was driving Bokuto crazy. “It’ll be just like old times, remember?”

Was Akaashi referring to all the _indecent_ times, like when they took advantage of being the only ones at a 24/7 laundromat? Or was he referring to when Bokuto kept smacking his ass when they did laundry at their apartment? There was that other time Koutarou accidentally spilled detergent all over Keiji and tried to “wipe it off” in a particularly lewd manner…

“Okay!” Bokuto agreed a bit too eagerly, jumping up from the bed. “Let’s do it! The laundry, I mean!”

“Good. You can grab my hamper in the bathroom, and I’ll go grab Tetsu’s.” Bokuto yelped when his butt was pinched, rubbing the sore spot as Akaashi casually exited the room, throwing back a sinful expression as his boyfriend as if he were saying _come find me_.

“Oh, so _that’s_ how it’s going to be,” Bokuto whispered to himself, hurriedly grabbing the heavy hamper from the bathroom. “I’ll show you, Akaashee…”

Once the couple had gathered all the dirty clothes in the house (half of Tetsu’s hamper really was full of socks), they got to work in the laundry room, separating the whites from colors, etc. etc. Keiji was trying to show Bokuto how to do things in case he forgot, but they kept getting distracted by…other factors. Like Koutarou holding up one of Akaashi’s sleep lingerie sets and asking why he had yet to see him in it. The ballerina didn’t help matters by sneaking flirty touches whenever the fish fryer was preoccupied, distracting him with casual innuendo comments, dark gazes and everything else Keiji did that drove Bokuto up a wall. They managed to get two loads done before things _really_ got off track.

Koutarou was sneaking through another basket (that just so happened to include delicates) when he found a pair of lacey neon pink underwear. Keiji glanced over, doing a double-take when he saw his boyfriend dangling them around playfully.

“Oooo, look at _these_!”

“You’re so childish,” Akaashi laughed, throwing a pillowcase at Bokuto’s head. “Are you _ever_ going to grow up?”

“Nope!” Koutarou gave a sly grin, twirling up the pillowcase. “Because I know you love me just the way I am. Even if I do _this_.”

When Keiji turned around, Bokuto winded up and brought the towel down on Akaashi’s pert ass, a loud smack resonating through the room—his victim whipped around in shock, holding onto his stinging backside as he stared the other man down dangerously, eyes nearly becoming black.

“You did _not_ just do that, Bokuto Koutarou.”

“I think I did. What are you gonna do about it, _ballet boy_?”

Akaashi shoved his boyfriend against the washing machine with one hand, smashing their lips together aggressively and immediately biting at the other’s lips; Bokuto didn’t waste time smiling into the kiss, grabbing onto Keiji’s ass and pulling him even closer. The washer drowned out their sloppy noises, the loud pecks and wandering kisses, although Koutarou’s reverent comments and teasing words matched their volume so Keiji could hear.

“I can’t get enough of you,” The hitman mouthed against Keiji’s neck, making him tip his head back. “My beautiful ballerina…”

“Mm…Bo—Bokuto-san…”

Bokuto bent his knees and suddenly lifted Akaashi up, setting him on top of the washer and squirming in between his legs to continue where they left off. The air smelled like fresh detergent with a mixture of cooking oil and something that Keiji could only describe as Bokuto, and he threw his arms around the taller man to bring him even closer so that he might imbed the smell into his own skin. Between their harsh kisses, Koutarou’s strong hands gabbing and squeezing Akaashi’s thighs, not to mention the shaking of the washer below, Keiji felt as if challenging his boyfriend had been a huge mistake.

But he had made huge mistakes before. The consequences of this one were heavenly compared to the others.

“Couch,” Akaashi huffed, forcibly pulling Bokuto away from his lips so he could get a word out. “Please.”

The only verbal response he got from the fish fryer was a groan into the nape of his neck before Bokuto hoisted him up like he weighed nothing at all, quickly walking them into the living room as Keiji held on tight.

“You’re…so _strong_ ,” Koutarou’s boyfriend panted in amazement, hands tightening their grip on the hitman’s tensed shoulders. “So strong…”

Bokuto felt the effects of his lover’s enchanted compliments immediately, mind becoming fuzzy as he sat down on the couch, adjusting Akaashi on his lap and taking a quick moment to admire the ballerina’s flushed cheeks, his scrunched eyebrows, closed eyes and shuddering body…he never seemed to get tired of this sight. He imagined it so many nights in prison, tried to remember each twitch of Akaashi’s body whenever his boyfriend’s kisses were too harsh, the way his dusty eyelashes fluttered in pleasure…

“So are you,” Bokuto replied, laying a kiss onto the corner of Akaashi’s lips. “Let me take care of you?”

Keiji didn’t hesitate to nod in consent, sucking in a deep breath when Koutarou slid his large hands under the other’s lavender sweater and lifted it up, exposing Akaashi’s chest to the chilly atmosphere and almost immediately causing his nipples to perk up. That seemed to be Koutarou’s goal all along, as he didn’t hesitate a second before latching onto one—Akaashi really wasn’t sure why this sensation always pulled a dramatic reaction from him. Nothing differed today, the ballerina’s mouth opening to release a high-pitched moan, digging his fingernails into Bokuto’s shoulders and begging him to continue.

Koutarou alternated between peppering kisses and suckling like a newborn, noticing the slight difference in his boyfriend’s chest since he gave birth; his pecks began at a higher level on his chest, puffing out more than before and leading to small mounds of fat around his nipples. Bokuto didn’t know if Keiji had ever cared enough about what people think to feel insecure, but he was bound and determined to erase whatever doubts Akaashi had about what he looked like after giving birth seven years before.

The hitman lavished Keiji’s chest for at least ten-minutes, not stopping until his boyfriend sounded completely out of breath and his nipples were bright pink and raw from Bokuto’s constant alterations between sucking and nibbling. He gave himself a short moment to catch his breath, instantly returning to kissing Akaashi’s chest bone, his collarbone, his throat and whatever other portion of skin he could reach the sweater wasn’t restricting. Keiji’s brain felt blurry, bending to the fish fryer’s every command and touch, but something akin to panic broke through the barrier when Bokuto’s hands suddenly began moving downwards towards the ballerina’s stomach.

Before he could stop himself, Akaashi’s hands jerked away from those broad shoulders and latched onto the hitman’s wrists, stopping him in his tracks. Bokuto pulled himself away to look up at his boyfriend in concern.

“Keiji…is something wrong?” Koutarou panted.

“Y-Yes—well, no, nothing’s _wrong_ , just…I-I just…” _Come on, get it together, Keiji!_ He yelled at himself, shaking his head in frustration. “I want to, I really do, but…”

“But…?”

Akaashi let his head fall into the nape of Bokuto’s neck, hiding there for a moment and letting that familiar, comforting scent help fuel his next words.

“I just don’t know what’s holding me back, Bo,” He whispered.

The living room suddenly became silent, washer down the hall the only sound in the entire house; Koutarou let Keiji calm down for a moment, sensing that his anxiety was flaring up because of their current situation, but he didn’t want to wait too long to reveal his own theory, lest Akaashi should start crying from frustration. The hitman hated a lot of things, but Akaashi crying was number one on the list.

“I know what.”

“Y-ou do?” Keiji asked, leaning back to look at the other. His eyes were glossy, but they didn’t seem in danger of spilling any tears just yet.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I broke your heart. Shattered it into a million pieces, to be exact,” Bokuto reminded him. “I mean, it’s been seven years, sure, but…that’s not the kind of pain that goes away easily. Your heart is telling you yes, but your head remembers what happened last time you opened up to me. It’s like…love PTSD or something.”

“Love PTSD?” Akaashi managed a chuckle. “You made that up.”

“Well, _yeah_ , but it’s true, isn’t it?”

Keiji considered that. He remembered how depressed he was following Bokuto’s sentence to prison. Konoha always told him how mopey and unresponsive he was, and that when Keiji realized it he responded by marrying the first man who showed interest to mask his unbearable feelings of sorrow. The only joy he felt after Bokuto left was the day Tetsurou was born—things had gotten easier after that, having someone to take care of and love unconditionally, but in the back of his mind, Akaashi knew he was still mourning. As much as the ballerina’s mind tried to convince himself that things were okay, that he and Bokuto-san had gotten a do-over and life would be perfect, now, something was still weighing down his chest like an anchor.

Maybe Bokuto was right about the whole “love PTSD” thing.

“What do you feel when we start…doing things?” Koutarou asked him quietly.

“The first time…it was incredible.” Akaashi really didn’t want to admit the rest. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt his boyfriend’s fragile feelings. “But now I feel… _scared_ ,” He whispered.

“And that’s fine,” Bokuto nodded. “You feel what you feel. We’ve got a lot of making up to do emotionally, anyway—all this hot, kinky sex can be saved for a rainy day!”

“I guess, but…I just feel guilty. You haven’t had me for all these years, and I want to give you that, because I love you.”

“I love you, too, Keiji. That’s why it’s really not a big deal. Sure, I’ve got a lot of pent-up sexual energy, but my right hand can keep me company if I ever really need to get some release!”

That vulgar comment pulled a short laugh from Akaashi, who let his head nuzzle back between Bokuto’s shoulder and neck as the hitman tugged his sweater down and wrapped his arms around him tightly. He didn’t want Akaashi to ever feel guilty about _anything_ , much less their sex life. Koutarou often thought about how much his ex was hurting during his time in prison, but Keiji was good at hiding his true feelings from others, and _especially_ from himself—those repressed emotions were just starting to erupt, now, and Bokuto wanted to be there in case Akaashi fell.

“Bokuto-san,” Keiji murmured against his neck. “What does your dream wedding look like?”

“Eh?! My dream _wedding_? Gosh, I don’t know…”

“Do you want lots of people, expensive flowers and decorations, maybe on a fancy beach resort somewhere?”

“Ew, no!” Bokuto shook his head in disgust. “Weddings are so awkward when they’re big. I would only want really close friends there…and definitely not on a beach. There are bugs on the beach! No…I’d want ours to be in a yard. Maybe some simple decorations and lights, so I could see your face—no benches, no chairs, just our friends watching over us.”

Akaashi listened to the soft rumble of Koutarou’s chest, closing his eyes and imagining what his boyfriend was describing.

“And Tetsu-chan would be standing between us, holding our hands as we said our vows. He’d be wearing a cute little tux and have a pillow for the dark blue rings I would buy…we’d give him one too, of course. And we’d have the reception there, with a shitty old boombox to play our favorite songs; our first dance would be that song we both like, by G-Dragon. Tetsurou shares a dance with you, then me, then we could all dance together, as one family.” _Damn. That sounds nice even coming from me_. “We would dance until our friends left, swaying together in the yard until it felt like we were dreaming.”

Bokuto shook out of his daydream and tugged Akaashi back so he could see his light expression, tiny smile quirking at the edge of his lips.

“So your dream wedding involves me,” Keiji confirmed. “Interesting.”

“ _Duh_ , ‘Kaashi—who the hell else would I be marrying?”

“I don’t know. That model Azusa Togashi? Maybe Miss Universe, Riyo Mori?”

Bokuto began wiggling his fingers over Akaashi’s sensitive sides relentlessly, grinning as the ballerina giggled and screeched for him to stop, pleading over and over again and hopelessly trying to fight off his boyfriend’s strong hands. His attempts were in vain, laughter overcoming him and sides splitting painfully as Keiji finally gave up, sinking into Koutarou’s body for dear life; the hitman relented, then, smiling brightly and laughing along with him, chores the last thing on his mind.

“No way,” Bokuto replied lowly, planting a sweet kiss onto Akaashi’s cheek. “There’s never been anyone but you, Keiji. Never.”

Without warning, the front door opened and slammed shut, prompting Bokuto to instinctively switch positions with Akaashi, hovering over his figure and effectively shielding him from whoever was coming through the front door. The hitman watched over the couch, golden eyes narrowing in alert and heartbeat speeding up dramatically, only to see a very angry-looking Tetsurou come stomping through the living room.

“Oh—hey, Tetsu-chan!” Bokuto greeted, letting Keiji sit back up.

“Hi, baby; how was school?” Akaashi asked. The only reply he got was Tetsurou running up the stairs and slamming his bedroom door shut as loudly as possible. Koutarou and his boyfriend shared a look, both standing up and heading towards Tetsu’s bedroom to see what was going on; thankfully, the door didn’t have a lock on it, and Akaashi knocked a few times, only to get no answer. He cleared his throat and pressed his ear against the door.

“Tetsurou, sweetie, can we come inside?”

 _“No!”_ The boy’s muffled voice yelled.

“Are you hurt? Is something wrong?”

_“Go away!”_

Koutarou had never heard Tetsurou talk this way. In fact, he could only think of a handful of occasions where he was upset, and most of those were the fake kind of upset the boy planned to get what he wanted. Akaashi gave him another look and put his hand on the doorknob, motioning for him to follow.

“Tetsu, we’re coming in,” Bokuto warned.

_“No!”_

Tetsurou’s room was a bright red color, decorated in volleyball and sciencey things with a shelf full of medals and awards above his dresser; he had a small walk-in closet where his nicer clothing were stashed, full of suits and dress-shoes and Givenchy. There were so many colors and toys, yet the only thing that stood out to Bokuto was Tetsu, who was laying on his bed facing the wall. The tension in the room was unbelievable, and the hitman was starting to think something really bad must have happened at school. He let Keiji take the lead, watching from a foot away as Akaashi sat down on the tiny bed beside his son.

“Tetsurou. What’s wrong?” His mother asked gently. “Did something happen at school?”

“No!” The boy snapped back. “Leave me alone!”

“I will. But first you need to tell me what’s wrong, or else I’ll worry about you all night.”

“So what?!”

Akaashi released a quick sigh under his breath, then reached out and laid his hand on Tetsu’s shoulder.

“Tetsurou, you have to let us know what’s bothering you so we can fix it,” He said patiently.

What happened next took Bokuto entirely by surprise—in the short time he had known Tetsu, he already knew how much he loved his mother, how well-behaved and polite he usually was, how deeply he cared about his friends and food. Koutarou didn’t know how to react when he witnessed Tetsurou throw his mother’s hand off his shoulder and send a fiery glare his way.

“Don’t touch me!” Tetsurou hissed angrily. “I don’t have to tell you jack- _squat_!”

“Language, Tetsurou.” Akaashi’s tone was becoming more serious, but he didn’t lose his composure. “We’re just trying to help.”

“No! You’re being mean! Meanie!”

“You don’t have to tell us right now. We just want to make sure you’re not injured.”

“I’ll injure _you_ if you don’t get out of my room!”

“Tetsurou,” Keiji said in a lower, darkening tone, standing up stiffly. “We do _not_ threaten people with violence. Especially not your mother.”

Tetsurou hopped off his bed, and Bokuto stepped back in case he needed to stop the boy from fleeing, but instead the seven-year-old went directly to his Lego toys, picking up a large cluster and holding it tightly in his fist.

“Akaashi, he’s got _Legos_!” Koutarou whispered in fear.

“I’ll throw this if you don’t get out!” Tetsurou threatened. He had never looked more like a cat than right now, glowing yellow eyes filled with fury, hair wild and messy like it was raising the angrier he got. “Get out!”

“If you throw those, you will be grounded for a two-weeks, Tetsu,” Akaashi warned, stepping closer to his son despite the danger of sharp Legos. “We’ll leave you alone, but your aggressive attitude needs to stop immediately. Do you understand?”

Bokuto knew his son understood perfectly. But he got stubbornness from both his mother _and_ father. Tetsu raised the block higher, bending his arm into a throwing position.

“Tetsurou. Do _not_ throw that.”

The block went back even further.

“Tetsu. Enough.”

Tetsurou launched the toy, but his aim was way off, and the Lego crashed into his wall and broke apart; as he hurriedly went down to grab another one, Akaashi abruptly turned and lead Bokuto out of the room, shutting the door loudly behind them. They heard another crash near the door, and then silence.

“…Okay…I didn’t think I would _ever_ see Tetsu ever behave like that,” Bokuto said in shock. “Does he have tantrums often?”

“Only once a year, maybe,” Keiji sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead stressfully. “It’s never triggered by anything, he just…wakes up one morning and explodes, I guess. But he’s never done anything like that…do you think I should…well, what should I _do_ , Bokuto-san?”

Koutarou took Akaashi by the hands and comfortingly began running his thumb over the other’s hand, pulling him a bit closer to soothe his anxiety.

“It’s okay,” The fish fryer said confidently. “I’ll take care of this; why don’t you start the other set of laundry and I’ll meet you there to fold?”

“Huh? …Are you sure? Tetsu can be…well, you saw how he was…I don’t want him to—leave a bad impression on you…”

“You’ve dealt with my tantrums since we met, remember? I’ll handle this one.” He gave Keiji a soft kiss, nudging him towards the stairs. “I’ll be out in a few.”

Once Akaashi was gone, Bokuto stayed outside the door for a few more minutes, just listening; everything seemed silent, now, no more toys being thrown, no more yelling or threatening. If Tetsurou was anything like his dad, he was either slouched in a corner pouting or hiding under his covers. Koutarou knocked softly, peeking his head inside and seeing the boy’s shape hiding under his mess of bed sheets. Since he wasn’t immediately ordered to leave, the hitman figured he was safe to come in, quietly creeping towards the bed and plopping down on the empty side; Tetsu still didn’t speak or move, so Bokuto figured he should start.

“Hey. What’s got you so worked up today, buddy?” He asked gently.

“I’m mad.” Tetsurou mumbled from under his covers.

“Okay…why are you mad?”

“I just am!”

Tetsu furrowed deeper under his covers, pulling the comforter further over his head to hide himself. Yet another bad habit he got from his father. To make amends for giving him this gene, Bokuto slid under the covers himself, entering the darkness and immediately meeting with Tetsurou’s pouting, teary-eyed face. He tried to hide the fact that he was crying by burying his head in a pillow, but Koutarou had already seen, and that only made Tetsu sniffle harder.

“You’re allowed to get mad sometimes, Tetsurou. It’s okay to cry, too!” Bokuto told him. “I cry all the time—just ask your mom!”

The black-haired boy continued crying for a minute, then turned his head ever-so-slightly so one golden eye could see Bokuto.

“Y-You—You d-o?” Tetsu hiccupped.

“Sure! It’s all part of human emotion, right? But no matter how mad we are, we shouldn’t yell our frustrations out on other people. Don’t you think that makes them feel bad, too?”

Tetsurou nodded immediately. Bokuto didn’t really think his son needed to be told what he did wrong, because he was smart enough to know already; seeing the boy so regretful and upset plucked at the strings in his heart, and Koutarou couldn’t help but throw an arm around his son’s torso and tug him closer.

“I di-dn’t…mean what I said,” Tetsurou cried softly, snot and tears dripping off his face. “I don’t kn-ow…w- _why_ I yelled at Mommy.”

“I know. And Keiji knows, too,” The fish fryer assured him. “But I think you should tell him anyway, when you’re calmed down. Does that sound like a plan?”

Tetsu nodded again, and his personality took another wild turn: instead of hiding his tears or wiping his face, his small hands reached out towards Bokuto. Without having to ask what he wanted, the hitman pulled him into a tight hug, patting his back in reassurance and whispering soft things in his ear. They laid like that for a while, hiding in the darkness of the covers that did their best to try and disguise all the guilt and blame; only when Koutarou’s sleeve was entirely coated with snot did he separate them and throw the covers off.

“Man, it’s suffocating under here! Do you want a few tissues before I leave?”

“Y-es, p-please,” Tetsurou nodded.

“There’s the Tetsu we know best—here you go. We’ll be downstairs if you want to talk, okay, buddy?”

“Ok-kay…”

 _That wasn’t bad for first-time parenting!_ Bokuto applauded himself, giving a relieved sigh as he made his way downstairs. _Akaashi will be so proud of me! Probably. He might be jealous that I got him to calm down so easily…but he shouldn’t feel bad, because he has to calm me down almost every day. He sure has a lot on his plate._

Bokuto expected to find his boyfriend doing the laundry, but instead, he found him sitting on the couch with a large book opened on his lap; it was filled with hundreds of pictures and dates, another scrapbook full of memories. Koutarou plopped down beside him, recognizing dozens of images of Keiji and Tetsu when Tetsurou was just a baby.

“Whatcha looking at, Keiji?”

“Oh, just some baby pictures…want to see?”

“Hell yeah!” The hitman cheered excitedly. “Do you have any of the day he was born? Show me the pictures from when he was born!”

“Okay, okay,” Akaashi chuckled, flipping backwards until he got to the first page. “Here you go; November 17th, at the hospital.”

Koutarou looked eagerly, torn between agony and happiness at the image of beautiful Keiji, just having given birth, cradling baby Tetsurou against his chest and wrapping the warm red blanket around him. Akaashi looked so exhausted, his eyes trying not to flutter closed, his mouth open in a half-smile as he tried to catch his breath and look at his beautiful son for the first time…the next photo was closer, really capturing Keiji’s expression as he peered down at Tetsurou, whose little arms were squirming, looking for something he could depend on for security. He was bright pink, slimy, uncoordinated and already had a mess of hair on his head, but he was adorable.

“Wow…he’s so…so…”

“Perfect.”

“Yeah,” Bokuto nodded with a light laugh, eyes wide as he glanced over the pictures. “Wow…he really did look a lot more like you at this age.”

“Mm…good thing, too.”

“Hey!”

“Not for that reason,” Akaashi hit his arm playfully, flipping to the next set of baby pictures. “Look, this is when he first wrapped his hand around my fingers.”

Bokuto could have looked at those pictures all day long. One minute he was focused entirely on baby Tetsurou, his large eyes and black wad of hair, the next all he could see was Akaashi, carefully holding their son against his chest, lips softly pressing against Tetsu’s head whenever he got the chance. It was difficult not to let regret take over Koutarou’s thoughts—the idea of him being there, holding Tetsu, supporting Akaashi through labor…it was wishful thinking. Bokuto knew staying in the past never resulted in anything good, and forced himself to look at the photos from a third-person stand-point to prevent that from happening.

“Where’s…you know. That one guy?”

“He wasn’t there.”

“…What the hell do you mean, he wasn’t there?” Bokuto repeated in shock.

“Well, due to the usual circumstances of birth, he was under the impression that we were expecting Tetsurou in December. Everyone was so surprised the find out I was in labor in November, it just so happened to be one of those days were he was hungover, so he didn’t come until later that day,” Akaashi rolled his eyes. “Thank goodness for that.”

_Man, my hatred for this prick is growing with each passing day…_

“What are you guys doing?”

Both men turned their heads to see Tetsurou standing at the end of the staircase, eyes red and puffy, but considerably more calm than earlier. He had his hands behind his back and was rubbing his feet together anxiously, not knowing if he would be invited to join them.

“Looking at your baby pictures—wanna see?” Keiji offered.

Tetsurou nodded several times, running over and ducking under his mother’s arm to look; Bokuto smiled to himself as they looked over the baby pictures again, showing Tetsu what he used to look and act like. There were ones he thought were funny, like the picture where he had a lump of peanut butter on his foot for reasons unknown, and there were some he thought were weird, like the sailor outfit he wore for his first photoshoot. The fight seemed to be forgotten entirely (even for Akaashi, who had never once grounded his son and didn’t even know how that was supposed to help anything).

“Hey, that’s my butt!” Tetsu pointed at a picture of him trying to crawl out of the bathtub, completely naked and spilling water all over the bathroom floor.

“Pffft!” Bokuto cackled, looking at the photo. “You’re such a menace in the tub, Tetsu!”

“Hehe!”

“Oh, you wanna see _butts_?” Akaashi said teasingly, flipping back several pages with a sly smile on his lips. “This is Bokuto-san trying to crawl over a fence—his pants and underwear got caught on some wire and pulled _allllll_ the way down.”

It was Tetsurou’s turn to laugh his butt off at the image of a younger Bokuto half-way up a fence, looking back at the camera in anguish as his pants and briefs sagged at his knees, ass hanging out for everyone to see.

“Kaashi, I can’t believe you kept that cursed picture!” Koutarou whined in humiliation. “Let me have it!”

“No way—this is a cherished memory.”

“It’s disturbing, that’s what it is! Give it here!”

Akaashi refused to let Bokuto get his hands on the book, holding it out of his reach as the hitman squished them into the couch, Tetsurou laughing as he hid under his mother, shouting at him not to let Bokuto get the book. Koutarou finally relented, laughing along with them and turning on a movie marathon for them to watch; the rest of the night was peaceful as can be, and Tetsu, exhausted from his tantrum and from their fun, crashed by eight o’clock. Bokuto let Akaashi put him to bed tonight as a kind of truce, reminiscing on the day’s events in the entryway until Keiji came back down.

“Did he say he was sorry?”

“Of course,” Akaashi sighed, slipping on his scarf and prompting Bokuto to do the same. “He almost started crying again, but I told him all was forgiven. I just can’t believe he actually _threw_ something at me.”

“Well, he probably gets that fighting spirit from me…haha…”

“Hmpf. True.”

“Did he say if anything happened?” Bokuto wondered.

“Yes. He said he woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, and then the kids in his class laughed at him because he accidentally called his teacher mommy.”

“Damn, that’s rough.”

Koutarou went outside, unsure why Keiji stepped out after him, as the fish fryer had a nice new car now and wouldn’t need a ride home. They stood under the warm porch light together for a short minute, Bokuto unsure what to say—as it turns out, he didn’t have to say anything before Akaashi suddenly reached over and flicked the porch light off. And sank down to his knees…

“Uhh…Keiji?” Bokuto said worriedly. “Whatcha doing?”

“Thanking you properly,” Akaashi hummed, unbuckling the taller man’s belt and wasting no time in pulling his jeans _and_ briefs down. The cold winter air was harsh against his private parts, but Bokuto doubted that would matter in a minute.

“U-m…for…for _what_ , exactly?”

“Being there for us. Now _shhh_.”

Koutarou could only see on account of his old hitman skills, quickly adjusting his eyes so he could try and catch what Akaashi was about to do; hot, intoxicating breath soothed his cold extremities before they were entirely engulfed by a burning passageway, velvet-like lips closing around his cock.

“Wai— _Just_ —Keiji… _haa_.”

There was absolutely no time-wasting with the ballerina, who immediately went to work satisfying his boyfriend, who previously thought there was no way in _hell_ he would be able to manage an erection standing out in the winter breeze. Once again, Koutarou was entirely wrong. Akaashi skipped foreplay entirely, already bobbing back and forth over Bokuto’s dick, cheeks sucking in as far as they could as a means of getting his boyfriend harder faster. The lights may have been off, but if someone were to walk by or open their window, there would be no guessing as to what lewd thing was going on at the Akaashi residence.

Bokuto could feel it, could feel the blood rush to his balls excitedly, could feel how determined his boyfriend was when he grabbed onto the ballerina’s thick locks for grounding; Keiji’s tongue was relentless whenever it met the tip of Koutarou’s cock, daring to slide over his urethra opening like he was some kind of circus freak. Not once did he stop for a breath, warm air huffing out of his nose as he managed to bring Bokuto to full hardness. And that was where the real fun began.

“ _Ohhhh_ ,” The hitman accidentally moaned, tightening his grip on Akaashi’s scalp when he met the back of his mouth. “Ke… _Keiji_ …”

Keiji hummed in acknowledgement, easing his boyfriend’s thick cock further and further into his throat; it had been years since he performed this act, but he couldn’t resist any longer. He needed to feel _something_ of Bokuto’s, and since his throat was starting to ache already, well…he could always blame it on winter. Akaashi could feel his air being cut-off, reminding himself to breathe deeply through his nose like before, letting Koutarou’s low groans and soft panting fuel his desire. Finally, the hitman’s cock, now leaking profusely, was settled snugly at the very end of Akaashi’s tight throat, twitching in excitement when the ballerina swallowed around the rod lodged into his mouth.

God, had he missed this sensation. He missed being ruined, used by the love of his life in these situations. He missed the days when they had to run away from police to avoid charges of public indecency. Since Akaashi couldn’t give Koutarou the full show yet, this was the least he could do for both of them.

“Can I…please?” Bokuto stammered desperately, looking down where Akaashi was smashed against his groin, drool beginning to fall from his strained lips. “Can I, Keiji?”

The other man responded by quickly placing his own hands over Koutarou’s, signaling for him to tighten his grip even further before wrapping his arms around the hitman’s backside to nudge him closer. That was a green-light, and Bokuto responded without missing a beat, giving a harsh thrust forward and jamming his throbbing cock into Akaashi’s throat.

“Ahhh…just like old times,” Koutarou exhaled, forcing his eyes open so he could watch tears start to slip from his boyfriend’s closed eyes. “ _Good boy_ …”

Akaashi released all the tension in his body except for his throat, trying to ensure it stayed tight enough for Bokuto’s pleasure; their enjoined figure began to rock back and forth, Koutarou growing stronger and quicker in his thrusts, pulling out so far the ballerina nearly thought he was already done, only to slam back in and pull more choked noises from Keiji’s chest. Bokuto’s hands were tough, ensuring he never lost his grip on Akaashi’s dark locks as he moved his head in time with the rough thrusts. The heat was pooling in both their stomachs, but how could Akaashi focus on his own pleasure when his boyfriend was making such delicious noises under his breath?

The groans and whispers drove Keiji to a sort of competitive state, forcing him to swallow and gulp and push himself even _further_ onto Bokuto’s dick, holding the man’s powerful hips close so he couldn’t move away. That musky scent from the hitman’s groin was driving Keiji absolutely crazy, and he lived for the moments when his head was slammed up against Koutarou’s navel, where he could feel the wiry strands of dark pubic hair and breathe in their smell as best he could. Bokuto gave him what he wanted, forcing his cock against each battered side of his throat and mouth, doing especially excellent work on Keiji’s lips, which were now puffy and bright red, leaving nothing to the imagination. But Akaashi knew he was having just as great an affect on his boyfriend, judging by his erratic movements and frustrated noises.

“Keiji—Keiji, I’m—”

Akaashi hummed as best he could around the cock relentlessly tearing apart his throat. At this point his knees were being scraped on the cold concrete below, so many glistening tears fell down his cheeks and collided with the snot slipping from his nose, his eyebrows were pinched together high on his brow, and best yet, his throat was beginning to wane its strength. There was nothing Keiji enjoyed more than having his raw throat be completely violated by Bokuto’s monstrous cock until it had been rubbed red and aching from being entirely reshaped. Koutarou dared to tilt his head back down, stomach giving an even bigger jump when he saw the sight laying beneath him—at that same moment, Akaashi used all his remaining willpower to pry his eyes open, looking up at his beloved with his red eyelids, trembling lips, total mess of a pretty face, silently pleading for more…

“Oh _god_.”

Bokuto squeezed his eyes shut violently and yanked Keiji up higher, slamming that pretty face into his groin as he came; fluid skipped Akaashi’s mouth entirely, spraying into a place it probably shouldn’t have, causing his body to flinch backward, but he quickly composed himself and began gulping deeply to avoid choking. Despite his sputtering and shaking, Akaashi tried to taste as much cum as he could, weakly thrashing his tongue around in hopes of catching some stray splatters. This (unknowingly, of course) prolonged Bokuto’s orgasm, tearing a whine from his throat as his nails dug into Keiji’s scalp, hips jolting and desperately wanting to thrust again—Koutarou refrained from doing so, only because he didn’t know how much Akaashi could handle after so many years of absence.

“Akaashi…Akaashi,” He groaned loudly, full of relief and pleasure. “ _Ahh_ …just…a little— _more_.”

Finally, all of Koutarou’s cum had been dispensed, and Keiji’s enflamed throat tried to morph back into his original shape as Bokuto slowly pulled out, remaining fluids dripping over the dark-haired man’s mouth and cheeks; Akaashi coughed harshly, bending over to try and calm himself, alternating between licking the remnants of cum around his lips and heaving for air. All the while, Bokuto supplied the only comfort he could, releasing his tight grip on Keiji’s hair and softly stroking where he might have bruised his skull. Winter didn’t feel so cold, now, hot air all the boys could feel as they recovered together in the darkness of the front porch.

After Keiji managed to get some breath back, he dared to look up at Bokuto through the shadows: he looked like a fucking mess, hair pulled everywhere, throat swelled and visibly pulsating, cheeks bright red from exertion, bodily fluids spilled all over his face…and his midnight blue eyes were glowing with pleasure, staring up at his boyfriend with a hopeful expression.

“Was…Was it okay, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asked in an achy voice.

That was the last straw. Koutarou yanked the other up by his arms and pushed him against the front door roughly, keeping Keiji’s hands above his head as the hitman devoured his puffy lips. Was it okay? Was it _o-kay_? Of course it wasn’t. It was _incredible_ , it was _life-changing_ , it was _erotic_ and _everything_ Bokuto had ever dreamed of because this was Keiji Akaashi they were talking about. Prima ballerina, local celebrity, the hot single mom everyone wanted, the loving and doting parent to their son, Tetsurou, who didn’t need anyone to provide for him. Koutarou wasn’t sure he had the right words to express how _okay_ it was, so he just kissed the love of his life until they really couldn’t breathe.

“Do…Do you…remember why you were trying to crawl the fence?” Akaashi breathed heavily, unable to open his eyes.

“How could I forget?” Bokuto panted, smiling against the soft, pale skin of Keiji’s cheek. He leaned back and pressed his nose against his boyfriend’s, golden eyes teasing and mischievous. “I believe we were doing something similar to this in an alleyway one night…when those police come out of nowhere and threatened to charge us with public indecency. We took off and they started chasing us.”

“I knew we weren’t going to make it,” The other laughed softly. “So…I watched you crawl the fence, and when your pants got caught, I couldn’t resist taking a picture.”

“We had to sit in jail for a night and now have a public indecency charge in our files. Good memory, huh?”

Akaashi peeled his heavy eyes open so he could smile up at Bokuto, just like he had that night, when they were piled into the back of a cop car together.

“ _Great_ memory.”

Koutarou let his breath be stolen one last time, eagerly kissing Keiji back until the mother backed away, turning the porch light back on and hurrying inside to escape the cold.

“Goodnight, Akaashi,” Bokuto said dreamily.

“Goodnight, Bokuto-san. Make sure to pull your pants up before _those_ freeze off.”

The fish fryer quickly realized why his extremities were so cold, hurriedly yanking his pants and briefs up before anyone saw.

_I wonder if Komi got **that** removed from the record, too…_

~~~*~~~

“Shirabu-san, welcome back!”

“Whatever.”

Shirabu Kenjiro, ex business man and stock holder, was now an executive for the Shiratorizawa yakuza clan. He was a direct subordinate of Ushijima Wakatoshi, the newest clan leader appointed six years ago after the passing of his father; Shirabu liked to think they were the perfect team, though their biggest difference was their methods of handling certain situations. Deadly situations. Shirabu’s background in business made him sharp, intelligent—he was also cold, detached, and especially arrogant to fellow subordinates and those beneath him on the food chain. No one liked him except his desperate group of followers, who thought sucking up to Kenjiro meant they would be on good terms with the big boss.

Since such was true, these men went along with whatever plan Shirabu conjured. Even if it meant stealing, obstructing justice and murder. Especially murder.

“How was your day, Shirabu-san?” One bodyguard asked, pouring him a drink.

“Fine.”

“I was able to find a different cameraman, so if you want me to send him out, I can—”

“Pictures won’t be necessary anymore,” Shirabu cut him off impatiently. He hated when these imbeciles couldn’t see what he was thinking. “We’re close to closing in on the target. We know where he lives with that _boy_ , we know his routines, the dates of his ballet shows—most importantly, we know he’s involved with Bokuto Koutarou.”

The men stood at attention, eagerly awaiting what else their boss had to say. Shirabu loved when people looked up to him like this: it was like they were eating out of the palm of his hand, waiting for him to feed them with knowledge. That was a certain kind of power Shirabu thrived on. He wanted everyone to look at him this way. And after taking down Japan’s most famous hitman, they would.

“…There are two plans, here,” Kenjiro began slowly, watching the men hang onto his every word. “The best plan is to hire Bokuto Koutarou as a hitman to kill Akaashi Keiji. If he agrees to those terms, he will definitely agree to killing the boy as well. After he does so, we take out Bokuto. Any questions?”

The other yakuza member’s minds were spinning, unsure on how these details would play out in real time: Bokuto wasn’t called the Reaper Owl for nothing. They heard about his power, his stealth, his deadly glare and even more dangerous hands that were known to break necks before the victim even knew what hit them. He was so skilled as a hitman he rarely even used guns—not to say he couldn’t hit a target in one hit if given the chance. And they were going to trick this man into working for them just so they could kill _him_?

One man raised his hand. Shirabu rolled his eyes and nodded.

“I was just curious, Shirabu-san…why would Bokuto agree to kill his boyfriend?” He asked in confusion. “I saw those pictures, man—it looked like they’re attached at the hip or something.”

“Power is more useful in this world than love,” Kenjiro replied quickly, as if he had repeated the phrase to himself a hundred times. “Love gets you nowhere, brings you nothing but vulnerability. Bokuto was in the game before, so he knows this. Here’s a skilled, efficient hitman who just spent seven-years in prison; he’ll be dying to get back in on the action, and this is the perfect test to see if he’s really as valuable as they all say.”

“I have a question,” Another soldier stepped forward. “How are we going to cover this up? The ballerina and the son, I mean.”

“Murder-suicide. It’s a simple job.”

“I have a question, too! Did Ushijima-sama give his permission for us to do this?”

Everyone immediately shrunk away, trying to remain invisible as Shirabu froze. The man realized his mistake and went to retract his statement, but it was too late. A second later, Shirabu had whipped out a handgun and fired six shots at him—he was dead before he hit the floor, mess of blood splattering and pooling out onto the carpet from his head and jugular. The sound of the bullets rang through the office like bombs.

“Does anyone else think we need to run this by Ushijima?” He asked coldly. The remaining men shook their heads, getting a smile out of his intense expression. “Good. Besides…we all know how Fukurodani treated their most efficient hitman—when we offer him a high position in our branch, he won’t be able to resist. He’ll become so hungry to get to the top, he won’t expect a trap,” Shirabu smiled. “It’ll be like killing two birds with one stone.”

The room remained silent as the bloodied man lay on the floor, expired and gone; their leader finished his drink, spinning his gun around like it was a toy. To him, it was.

“If this is going to work, you all have to trust me with your heart and soul,” Shirabu said simply. “And believe me when I say, Bokuto Koutarou would never turn down power in favor of love. Akaashi Keiji and his precious son are as good as dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> microsoft word kept changing "cock" to "clock." nice try, bill gates, but even billionaires can't stop the power of smut (and "add to dictionary")  
> P.s. if u haven't seen the commission i made for ch.2 u shud definitely go check it out. Link in summary! U will thank me. Trust me. (THAT ASSSSSSS)


	7. "lose my everything"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> loosely edited

_“Please, just once more_

_If I could see you again_

_I don’t care if I lose my everything”_

“Are you _sure_ I can’t tell him yet, ‘Kaashi?”

“Not yet. I think it needs to come from me, anyway,” Keiji replied quietly, making sure he had his handbag and cell phone. “Soon, though. I promise.”

“Okay, okay…you’ll rate the wedding for me, right, Tetsu-chan?” The fish fryer turned to ask his son, who was all decked-out in wedding clothes and impatiently waiting to leave.

“Mhm! I’ll do it like on _Four Weddings_ : experience score, food rating, dress rating and venue rating,” Tetsurou explained. He loved judging things. And people. “I think we get crab for supper. If it’s cooked right I’ll consider giving a higher score, but if it’s cold and there’s only plastic silverware…tch tch tch.”

“Make sure you tell Komi your final evaluation,” Bokuto snickered.

Today was the day of Yukie and Komi’s long-awaited wedding ceremony, held at the Meiji Jingu shrine at six p.m. Saruki was the best man, Konoha the maid of honor; crab was being served for dinner, along with a cupcake table and a wintery fireworks show at the night’s end. Komi always said his wedding would be better than Bokuto’s because he was good at planning, but his best friend always fought back by saying his would be better because he would have an open bar. How different things were now, seven-years later…Bokuto was sending his present along with Akaashi, because it would mean bad business if the convicted murderer and ex-hitman showed up at an event filled with yakuza. Even if it was the wedding of his best friend.

It seemed the closest friendship Koutarou ever had with his oath brother was not meant to be.

“I still don’t see why you can’t come along…you and Komi were best friends, and Yukie’s your boss. Couldn’t you just drop by for a few minutes, to give them your gift?”

“It’s all politics, babe,” Bokuto joked to hide his true feelings. Maybe that was why he was pushing for Tetsurou to know about his real identity so often lately—he wanted to mask how upset he was by succeeding in another category. “Besides, you don’t want to be seen with a punk fish-fryer like me at some fancy, publicized wedding, do you?”

“Yes,” Akaashi answered without a doubt.

“You really are a most _curious_ prima ballerina, aren’t you, Mr. Akaashi?” The taller man smiled, bringing his boyfriend closer. “Tell me, where did you acquire such refined tastes?”

“Hmm…I think it had something to do with working at a high-end boutique when I was younger, and this horribly-dressed man with spikey grey hair walked in one day—”

“No more flirting!” Tetsu demanded, wiggling in between his parents and pushing them apart. “We have to get to the wedding early so we can start writing down our judging scores, Mom!”

“Alright, let me see you two,” Bokuto ordered, motioning for Tetsu to stand beside his mother. They were wearing matching outfits, Akaashi in a red spaghetti strap dress with a ruched front that revealed just enough of his chest; Tetsurou had a red dress-shirt with white suspenders, black slacks and maroon Oxfords that really tied his whole outfit together. “Wow. You guys look like the Kardashians.”

“That’s not a compliment,” The ballerina rolled his eyes.

When Tetsu turned away to slip his coat on, Bokuto took the opportunity to grab Keiji’s ass and give it a hard squeeze, getting a quiet yelp from his lips.

“You’re right—the Kardashians _wish_ they were you,” He whispered in a husky voice.

“Mommmm, stop enticing fish fryer-san!”

“Where are you learning these words?” His mother wondered, forcing himself to pull away and step out the door.

“From Bokuto-san!”

“Wah—no you haven’t!”

“Have so!” Tetsu argued back.

“Nah uh!”

“Yeah huh!”

“Nah uh!”

“ _Yeah huh!”_

Akaashi was glad to be leaving, making sure Tetsurou was buckled in as the two children stuck their tongues out at each other; Bokuto was hiding his feelings well, but Keiji could read him like a book, and he knew there was more going on behind those electric gold eyes. He stared evenly at his boyfriend while piling into the driver’s seat, trying to pin down the emotions Koutarou was harboring.

“I’ll tell Komi and Yukie you send your regards,” The ballerina said, peeking his head out the window. “Are you sure you can’t come with us?”

“It’s better if I stay here,” Bokuto shrugged. “I don’t want Komi to be irritated on his wedding day.”

“…That’s _exactly_ what you said you wanted.”

“Well, yeah, but that was years ago! Now I just want him to be happy.”

Akaashi nodded, letting the hitman slowly kiss his lips, a gentle goodbye until the party was over and they could unwind at the house together, telling fun stories about the food, frosting disasters, first dances and Yukie and Komi’s wedding ceremony.

“Have a good time, Keiji. Eat a lot of cupcakes for me.”

“I will!” Tetsu piped from the backseat.

Before Koutarou could step back, Akaashi grabbed onto his forearm, leaning further out of the window to speak.

“We’ll be happy one day, you know,” Keiji told him seriously. “We can be that kind of family again.”

Tetsurou was listening intently, waiting for Bokuto’s reaction to this proposal; the fish fryer gave a slow, appreciative smile, then brought his hands up to take Akaashi’s and cover them snugly.

“I’m already happy, ‘Kaaashi. Now go—you don’t want to be late for the ceremony.”

“…Right. Okay.”

“See you later, Tetsu!” Bokuto waved.

“Bye bye! I’ll bring you a cupcake!”

Akaashi and his son finally drove off into the evening traffic, radio quiet compared to the rapid thoughts Tetsurou’s mother was struggling through. He had dreamed of attending all the weddings of his closest friends, couldn’t wait to help get things ready, to pick wedding colors, dishes, etc. etc. But in all those teenage daydreams, Keiji had a very specific image in mind, and it included Bokuto, childish, energetic Bokuto as his date. There was nothing happier than seeing two of your friends vow to be with each other forever—and Yukie’s wedding was sure to be a grand occasion, no doubt about it.

But it was _different_.

“Don’t miss your turn, Mommy.”

In Keiji’s version of events, Bokuto was the hilarious best man who embarrassed Komi to no ends in his speech. He was the one who got the party going, gave the best gifts, ate the most food; who would take his place? Akaashi only briefly knew Saruki, but he doubted he could be as funny as Koutarou. Besides, weren’t Komi and Bokuto friends from childhood? Didn’t they vow to be there for each other, no matter what? Weren’t they some kind of special brothers? It didn’t make sense to Keiji, how someone as honest and loyal as Komi could do this.

Didn’t he _miss_ Bokuto?

“Hey, why does fish fryer-san’s present have big holes in it?”

“I’m not sure.”

“…Uhh…I think I heard something weird…”

 _Komi may have helped me out of the gutter, but I’m so furious at him right now_ , Akaashi bit his lip angrily, turning right more aggressively than usual. _Bokuto-san said it was about politics—what the hell does politics have to do with who gets to come to your wedding? Komi’s in the same group Kou was…wouldn’t they want him to come after all these years? Doesn’t murder make you “cool” in the streets?_

“Eek! Something bit my finger, Mom!!!”

“Oh?”

When Keiji stopped at a red light, his angry thoughts were going on a rampage when suddenly, tiny little snowflakes began falling onto his car. Ten turned into twenty, then twenty turned to a hundred, and soon the entire front window was covered in small specks of white. The wind wasn’t strong tonight, allowing every flake that fell to gently float down on whatever they wished; Akaashi couldn’t help but stare, being reminded of the night Bokuto held Tetsurou up on his shoulders, both their hair covered in white, smiling over at Keiji…

_This isn’t right. This just isn’t right._

“Wow, it’s snowing!” Tetsu noted happily, pointing out his window. “Do you think that’ll ruin the honeymoon?”

The boy wasn’t given an answer, thrusted back into his seat by his mother hitting the gas pedal hard, speeding towards the ceremony site like his life depended on it.

“Jeez, Mom, take it easy on the gas!”

“Change of plans,” Akaashi said, slamming on his breaks in front of the venue. “We’re not going to the wedding tonight.”

“Huh?” Tetsu questioned, glancing around. “We’re not?”

Keiji abruptly tore out of his own seat, swiftly grabbed the presents sitting beside Tetsu and hurried towards the entrance, where several yakuza-looking men were ushering people inside. One stopped the ballerina when he attempted to slide past.

“Sir, you’re going to have to step in line fo—”

“Here’s some presents for the Komi wedding,” Akaashi said, shoving the packages at the man. “Tell him Keiji Akaashi is unable to attend, but he wishes them a happy and healthy marriage.”

“Uhh…okay,” The man said slowly, looking suspiciously at the box that was meowing at him. “What’s in—”

The dark-haired man was already gone, stepping back into his car and turning them around so they could head back to the house; Tetsurou was beyond confused, but obeyed when his mother told him to call Bokuto and put it on speaker.

 _“Hey, is something wrong, Tetsu?”_ The hitman answered immediately. _“Shouldn’t you be at the ceremony?”_

“Well, yeah, but mom’s acting _crazy_!” Tetsurou claimed, holding the phone closer to his mother’s seat. “He needs to tell you something, I guess.”

“Bokuto-san. You left some of your clothes in the closet, right?” Akaashi clarified. “Put them on and grab a coat; we’re coming back and we’re going out for dinner at _Oui mon amour_.”

_“We are? But…what about Komi’s wedding?”_

“We’ll be there in about ten-minutes. Better get going.”

_“…Okay…”_

Bokuto hung up, leaving Tetsurou somehow even more confused. He made a face that his mother caught in the mirror, trying to decipher what was happening: Akaashi had been talking about this wedding for months, and he promised Tetsu they could judge the food and venue like on TV. But then once they hit the red light and it started snowing, he changed his mind? Was snow really that persuasive, or was Tetsurou just losing his mind?

“Mom, have you been drinking or something?”

“No, sweetie. I just think we should all be together tonight, with Bokuto-san,” Keiji explained, a different kind of excitement in his blue eyes than before. “Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

“Yeah!” The seven-year-old brightened up. “Can I rate the service of the restaurant?”

“Of course.”

“Sweet nuggets!”

Akaashi Keiji made a decision in the car. Maybe things would never be as they once were; maybe Komi would never be able to call Bokuto his friend again, maybe they could never be at the same functions together, and maybe Akaashi would have to break all ties with anyone from his Fukurodani past, but if that was what it took to give Koutarou a happy, stable family, Keiji would go great lengths to see that happen. Gone were the days he could pretend he and Bokuto had never happened—he didn’t plan on losing his soul mate and sought out to mend old wounds for good, starting tonight.

He hoped whoever had a grudge against his boyfriend would realize things were different, now, and there was no way in hell Akaashi was going to let anything keep them apart for so long ever again.

When they drove up to the house, Bokuto was all dressed and ready to go, jogging over to slide into the passenger seat and giving Akaashi a long, questioning look.

“What?” Keiji laughed at him, putting the car in drive. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“…Well, I’m always hungry, but—”

“Good. We’re going to my favorite French restaurant.”

“We get to judge their presentation, Bokuto-san!” Tetsurou added cheerfully.

Koutarou really wanted to ask more questions, like why had Akaashi ditched Yukie’s wedding just so they could go out for supper, but it was hard focusing on anything beside his family when they pulled up to the fancy restaurant waiting for them. Normally you had to make reservations months in advance, but since Akaashi was a local celebrity and a regular, they set their trio up with a nice table in the corner, away from the hustle and bustle of the other patrons. The soft lighting did wonders to Keiji’s complexion (not to mention, really made his dress and figure stand out), and from that moment on, Bokuto was living in the moment.

“Akaashi, how the hell do I pronounce this?” Bokuto squinted at the list of wines. “La ve-ell...fur-mah row-oo…”

“La Vieille Ferme Rouge!” Tetsu corrected in a giggle.

“Jeez, don’t tell me you know French, too!”

“The Ferme Rouge is good,” Akaashi nodded, smiling in admiration at his dorky boyfriend. “But I prefer Bordeaux Supérieur; do you want to try?”

“As long as I don’t have to say it!”

Once their wine was ordered, the family began looking at what dishes they wanted to try—Bokuto stuck to looking at pictures, and Tetsu was bound and determined to have the same thing he always had, but Akaashi was nudging him towards trying something new. After a ten-minute discussion about what oceans certain fish come from, Tetsurou decided to try the Sole Meunière, asking the waiter if he happened to know how to resuscitate children if things went bad. While most families hated waiting for their food to arrive, Koutarou was having a great time talking about school, art projects, Kenma’s videogames and anything in between with Tetsu. Akaashi mostly listened, sipping on his wine and looking on dreamily at his young son until the conversation turned to him.

“Mommy looks _so_ nice in this dress,” Tetsurou pointed out, admiringly reaching out to touch the fabric. “Doesn’t he look nice, fish fryer-san?”

“Mhm…he does,” Bokuto quirked a smile. “ _Very_ nice.”

“I think we _sorta_ look alike. I’m not as pretty as Mommy, though, ‘cause he has higher cheekbones than me.”

“Tetsu, that’s not true,” The ballerina defended, reaching out to stroke his son’s cheek. “You have nice cheekbones, and you’re much more handsome than I am. Plus, when you get older you’ll be a lot taller than me.”

“That means you’ll have great legs, Tetsu,” Bokuto winked.

“Mommy has _such_ nice legs,” Tetsurou sighed deeply, leaning against Akaashi’s arm lovingly. “He has a nice voice…and great hair…and sparkling eyes…”

“ _Somebody_ wants another Prada jacket.”

“I’m being for real, Mom! Bokuto-san, tell Mommy how pretty he is.”

Koutarou sat back in his chair and stared at Keiji, shimmering gold eyes slowly scanning over every part of his boyfriend’s lovely face; there was really no best place to start gushing. There was Akaashi’s dark blue eyes, almond shaped and peeking out mysteriously from his long eyelashes with a certain softness, a fondness that lit-up his usually stiff expressions. There was also the tiny smile tugging at the left corner of his lip, creating a small dimple next to it as he took another sip from his wine glass, shyly peering over the object at Bokuto. Nothing the hitman said after that would be PG, so he decided to change the subject.

“Keiji, did you tell Tetsu-chan how we first met?” Bokuto prompted.

“Briefly.”

“I meed dtails!” The seven-year-old mumbled over his bread. “ _Details_ , Moom!”

“Fine. Just don’t talk with your mouth full, bread boy.”

Tetsurou quickly swallowed his bread and leaned his chin into his hands, staring at his mother intently as Akaashi thought to himself. Little did he know he was hearing the story of how his _real_ parents got together…

“I was working with Konoha at the boutique one afternoon,” Keiji started, remembering how he and his best friend were finishing up in the fitting room from their last clients. “He went out to go meet our next set of clients while I put away some jackets. I had just turned around when Konoha was leading in some tough-looking guys who wanted to buy some new suits; one of them was really short and had fluffy brown hair—”

“Uncle Komi!” Tetsurou gasped.

“And the man hovering behind him was taller, had this crazy, spikey hairdo and a terrible dotted suit jacket that looked fit for a clown.”

“Oh come on, was it really that bad?!” Bokuto whined.

“What happened next, fish fryer-san?” Tetsu turned to him. Akaashi looked at him as well, still smiling and waiting for the next part of the story.

“…Of course, I started acting like a blubbering idiot when Konoha introduced ‘Kaashi,” Koutarou laughed, rubbing the back of his neck like he did back then. “I could barely say a word for the first hour, I was so flustered! But Keiji-kun was so nice and patient with me, and he picked out the best suits, so I finally found enough courage to talk to him.”

_“So…come here often?”_

_Bokuto felt like an idiot the second he opened his mouth, but the pretty suit attendant quirked a smile at him and answered anyway as he measured the length of the hitman’s arms._

_“Every evening Monday through Thursday,” Akaashi said._

_“Oh. Cool!” Bokuto nodded. He wanted to say something else, but nothing came out. The taller man glanced over at Komi for help, but he was too busy arguing with Konoha about whether or not he should put lifts in his dress shoes. “Umm…so…what do you d—EEK!”_

_The angel’s hand had suddenly found itself right next to Bokuto’s junk, making him yelp and attract the attention of Konoha and Komi; Akaashi raised an eyebrow at his reaction, holding the measuring tape against the inside of his client’s leg._

_“Just measuring your inseam,” He pointed out innocently. Maybe the ballerina had been a little too close to certain areas, but only because Bokuto flinched so violently._

_“R-Right! I…I knew that! Haha!”_

_“You were saying?”_

_“Uh, well, I was just…just wondering what you did the other days of the week,” Koutarou gulped, trying to shake off his embarrassment. “When you’re not working, I mean.”_

_“I’m a dance student,” Akaashi explained, jotting down some numbers. “Well, my main discipline is ballet, but I also study different forms of street dancing. I’m practicing at the studio when I’m not working.”_

_“Wow. That’s super cool.”_

_Bokuto cringed at himself again, but Keiji didn’t seem annoyed, making some final adjustments on the grey suit and writing down the remainder of Koutarou’s measurements. The hitman wasn’t sure what was happening to him—he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the attendant, watching him work swiftly to re-hang other suit jackets and scribble down some other information. You could definitely tell he was a dancer from the graceful way he moved, looking like a professional fashion designer with the measuring tape hanging around his neck, square glasses accenting the dark locks of his hair just perfectly…Bokuto was sure he had never seen someone so out of his league in all his life._

_Never-the-less, Koutarou managed a grin when Akaashi caught him looking, peeking up from his clipboard and trying to hide a tiny sprout of blush appearing on his porcelain cheeks._

_“We have your sizes, now, so if you need more suits in the future we can order you some.”_

_“Okay. Cool!” Bokuto nodded._

_“Let’s get this one off and then we’ll finish setting up your account.” Akaashi almost had a heart attack when his client began taking the suit off right on the pedestal stand, freezing in his spot and unable to speak for a long second before hurriedly motioning towards the fitting room. “In—In the dressing room, please.”_

_“Oh—right! Sorry!”_

_Once Bokuto managed to get his own clothes back on the right way, he followed Keiji to the front desk, where they finished entering his measurements and information. He knew Komi was going to bug him about asking Akaashi out later, but the hitman didn’t know if he should. Akaashi was so out of his league it wasn’t even funny, and there was the whole Fukurodani yakuza thing he had to worry about, too, but…one date wouldn’t hurt, right? Keiji seemed cool, like a nice quiet diner date would be just his cup of tea. Then again, what did Bokuto know? They only met two hours ago! What if Akaashi was a serial killer who hunted for victims at his job?_

_“Alright…your suits should be in next week, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said, handing Koutarou the receipt and breaking him from his daydreams. “Would you like them sent to your apartment?”_

_“Sure!” A sudden idea came to Bokuto after he spoke, and he immediately shook his head to take his first answer back. “I mean, no! Um, is it…could I just pick them up when they come in? Is that okay?”_

_“Certainly. What day would you like to come pick them up?”_

_“You work on Wednesday, right?” Bokuto asked before he could stop himself. Oh god, what on earth was he about to do?_

_Akaashi paused, then, peering over the computer screen to look at his customer evenly; he seemed to be figuring out what Koutarou was getting at, but since he didn’t make an immediate excuse or call Konoha to the front, Bokuto figured he still had a tiny chance._

_“I do,” Keiji agreed. “But if you want them a day sooner, we can ship them to your apartment; it’s really no trouble.”_

_“Oh, no, that’s okay! I’ll come pick them up when you’re working.”_

_Something nice happened, then—as Koutarou was anxiously waiting, searching for a reaction and half-expecting to have something thrown at him, Akaashi smiled. At him. At Bokuto. He was smiling at him and trying to force it down, but it wasn’t working, making the rest of his beautiful face light-up with energy. His petal pink lips were curved, tightening his cheeks and exposing the dark blush there even more than before, no matter how hard Keiji tried to hide it._

_Bokuto decided he really wanted to see that smile often._

_“Very well,” The ballerina nodded, shrinking back behind the desktop to conceal his pleased expression. “I guess I’ll see you Wednesday, then, Bokuto-san. Thank you for allowing me to assist you today.”_

_“Yeah, no problem! Thanks for helping me!” For as smooth as the hitman was, he was really struggling with coordination today, slamming his forehead on the front desk when he tried to bow and tripping over a mannequin when he headed towards the door. “See you next Wednesday, Akaashee!”_

_“Akaashi.”_

_“Oh, sorry! Bye, Akaashi!”_

“What happened after that?” Tetsu tugged on Bokuto’s arm excitedly. “Did you run him down in a car chase and ask him out on a date?!”

“He did ask me out a few weeks later, but there were no car chases involved,” Akaashi answered. “If I remember right, you asked after you nearly smothered me by accidentally pushing that rack of clothing on me…”

“I thought it was part of the foundation! I didn’t think it would fall over, _honestly_ , Akaashi!”

“Bokuto-san, people really don’t like it when you try to smother them,” Tetsu chided him as the waiter came with their plates. “You got lucky!”

“Don’t I know it…”

The waiter placed their food down in front of them, Tetsurou drooling at how delicious his looked; both the adults waited eagerly as he grabbed a fork and broke off a piece of the fish, bringing it to his mouth for a taste. He chewed for a few seconds, munching and munching to test the food out until he stopped suddenly—Tetsu’s cat eyes scrunched up unpleasantly, and his hand released the fork to cover up his mouth.

“Uh oh,” Bokuto snorted. “That’s not a good sign!”

“Not good?” Akaashi guessed with a soft laugh. Tetsu shook his head violently, accepting a napkin from his mom so he could politely spit the disgusting fish out. “Let’s switch. You can have my Cassoulet.”

“Hey, if anyone’s going to sacrifice their meals here, it’s me!” The hitman pushed his plate towards Tetsu, taking the fish away. “Here, buddy, have my beef stuff. I’ll try this out for size.”

Akaashi raised an eyebrow and watched as his boyfriend took a huge bite of the fish. He chewed it pleasantly for a long minute, but after a while his jaw began to slow down, really getting a good sense of what it was actually eating. Tetsurou watched in amazement, wondering if Bokuto had some kind of magic stomach that could digest even the worst of meals. Koutarou’s eyebrows started to pinch together, and Keiji could tell he was starting to suffer.

“You want to spit it out, don’t you?”

“No!” Bokuto mumbled, using all his inner strength to swallow down the horrendous fish and stab another piece onto his fork. If he didn’t throw up later, it would be a miracle, but that’s what fathers were for. Too bad there was an entire plate left of this stuff to eat… “It’s just…foreign and unique! My stomach isn’t used to these flavors!”

Bokuto took three more bites and chewed as fast as he could, tongue screaming for him to stop; Tetsu giggled at his increasingly disagreeable expression, probably thinking his step-boyfriend was the coolest person in the world for eating such disgusting food.

“Bokuto-san, you don’t _have_ to finish it,” Keiji pointed out, trying to get him to stop. He didn’t want two children throwing up in the bathroom of a French restaurant. “Why don’t we just share from our plates?”

“Like a mini-buffet!” Tetsurou agreed.

The fish-fryer wanted to say he loved all kinds of fish, being that he cooked it day in and day out, but this was just too much. He put away his pride and spit out a large chunk of whatever the hell he was eating into a napkin, downing his glass of wine to try and dilute the atrocious taste.

“Thank you,” Koutarou coughed, face so squished and childish it was making Akaashi want to burst out laughing. “Oh dear god, what kind of fish _is_ that?! It’s an insult to me as a fish artist!”

“Now we know better than to order it,” The ballerina chuckled, reaching over to wipe Bokuto’s lips with a napkin. “We’ll just share what we got, okay?”

Koutarou never thought he would ever be sitting in an expensive restaurant with his boyfriend and their child sharing dinner together, getting his mouth wiped like the big baby he was, but it was nice. He smiled charmingly at Akaashi, slyly rubbing his leg against the ballerina’s under the table.

“Thanks, Keiji,” Bokuto said honestly. He hoped Akaashi knew what he meant. He wasn’t just thanking him for tonight. He was thanking him for everything beautiful that had come into his life since meeting the fashion worker all those years ago.

“Sure,” Keiji smiled back. “Now let’s eat.”

The rest of their family dinner was uneventful, save for all the giggling, elbow bumping and face stuffing as Tetsurou tried to sneak sips of wine between mouthfuls. Since Bokuto didn’t like his, he let his son try a little, then Tetsu got the hiccups, which made Akaashi laugh because he was pretty tipsy, and by the time their food buffet was done everyone was happy and in a good mood. Tokyo was covered in snow when they got home, hurrying inside to escape the cold and get dressed in their warm pajamas; Tetsurou really wanted to show Bokuto all his wool socks, but fell asleep before he could (and thankfully, didn’t throw-up the one bite of fish he had earlier.)

“That kid falls asleep pretty damn fast for how much game he talks,” Koutarou laughed quietly, joining Akaashi in the bedroom.

“Wonder who he gets that from,” Keiji snorted. He was already cuddled underneath the covers, eyes staying closed as he let his boyfriend slide in beside him. “You’d fall asleep five-minutes after sex if I didn’t keep you up for round two.”

“What are you implying?” Bokuto teased, pulling the ballerina’s limp body right up against his own. His pajamas were too small, since he was borrowing from Akaashi, leaving nothing to the imagination as the ballerina felt himself be held against strong chest muscles and a particularly active lower region bulging from beneath the thin snowflake fabric.

“You had one little sip of wine…” Keiji didn’t know what point he was trying to make. His brain was fuzzy already, and when Bokuto’s large hands began wandering over his backside, the world became even hazier.

“And you had three glasses,” The hitman laughed lowly. Warm, rough lips mouthed over Akaashi’s neck gradually, just like he used to when they were teenagers; Bokuto knew how alcohol affected his boyfriend, and he always took advantage of it to bathe Keiji in touches and sloppy, slow kisses. It drove him crazy, but his bones were too heavy to ever really stop the stronger man.

“From what I remember, wine makes an unsafe driver—and for you, it also makes your body unbearably _hot_.”

“No… _don’t_ —Koutarou…”

Bokuto didn’t listen, immersing himself in the world of Akaashi’s soft skin, feeling it burn his lips as he traveled up and down, kissing, mouthing, sucking at his lover’s throat. As much as Keiji wanted to resist, his hands did nothing but tremble and try to cling onto Koutarou’s shoulders; he could hear himself releasing soft moans, powerless to stop their volume while the most sensitive area of his body was being completely ravished. He still had marks from he and Bokuto’s _other_ extra-curricular activities, and now he would have to cover his neck with makeup entirely if they didn’t want Suguru asking questions.

“Koutarou,” Akaashi gasped when the hitman licked at his collarbone. “Kou…”

“Mm…feeling good?”

“Yes…yes…”

Secretly, Bokuto loved when he could bring his boyfriend to near incoherence just through some simple kissing and sucking; it was comforting to know Akaashi was still capable of being brought down to earth. Just for an extra surprise, Koutarou slid underneath the covers and tugged the ballerina’s shirt up so he could begin littering the skin there with similar love marks, holding Akaashi still by his thin waist, keeping his squirming body in place. The slower his lips moved, inched over the burning heat of Keiji’s stomach, ribs, chest and nipples, the louder Akaashi’s noises became, panting his boyfriend’s given name over and over again…

“Mom?”

That title yanked Akaashi back to reality, and he shoved his knees forward to launch Bokuto off the bed and onto the floor where he couldn’t be seen; when the single mother turned on his other side, Tetsurou was just pushing the bedroom door open, hair already a knotted mess as he rubbed his eyes sleepily.

“Are you okay?” Tetsu mumbled in concern. “I heard…noises…”

“Oh, yes!” _Could I sound anymore guilty and drunk? And like I’m in the middle of an orgasm?!_ “I’m fine, baby, just…having some bad dreams,” Akaashi played off awkwardly. “Do you need something?”

“Thirsty. Need juice.”

Tetsurou turned around without another word, shuffling downstairs to the kitchen to get his drink. Akaashi covered his face in embarrassment, suddenly remembering Bokuto was on the floor and hurriedly crawling over to peek over the edge, surprised when he saw Koutarou curled up in a ball, unmoving.

“Bokuto?” He whispered, reaching down to poke him. “He’s gone. Are you…okay?”

_“…My --- are --!”_

“What? I can’t hear you.”

“My _peaches_ ,” Koutarou repeated rigidly, holding onto his private area in agony. “Are bruised!”

Keiji let his head fall against the bed, sighing tiredly to himself as his boyfriend recovered on the floor for the next few minutes; Bokuto wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to impregnate Akaashi ever again, or even go to the _bathroom_ ever again, and began to dramatically wonder why Tetsurou had interrupted them in the first place—he was blacked-out when the boy and his mother were talking.

“Why the— _owww_ …why the hell didn’t Tetsu knock first?!” Bokuto asked the gods, begging for an answer. “Why, oh why?! _Why_ did he interrupt?!”

“Welcome to the world of parenting,” Akaashi huffed into the mattress. “Get used to it.”

~~~*~~~

It had been long enough.

Tetsurou had gone the first seven-years of his life not knowing Bokuto was his real father. He went most of those years having a shitty father figure to no father figure at all, and now that Koutarou had vowed to live a normal life with Akaashi, the ballerina had finally come to terms with the fact that he would have to tell Tetsu. All the times he imagined this scenario, he imagined his son being much older, maybe in his early teens, maybe whenever Tetsurou decided he was curious enough to ask, but now…Akaashi was nervous. The scripts he had actually taken time to scribble out were useless. He would just have to wing it, which he hated doing, but by the time school had gotten out for the day, Keiji had over-thought himself into numbness, and it was too late to plan.

There Tetsurou was, talking to Kenma and Terushima outside the school, oblivious to what was about to happen. Akaashi admired him from the car, loving how adorable he was in his scarf and Prada jacket, smiling, laughing, backpack hung over his increasingly broad shoulders. _Will he start to look more like Bokuto as he gets older?_ Keiji wondered, waving to him and Kenma, who hurried over after saying goodbye to their friends. _Maybe so…maybe that’s why it’s best to tell him now…_

The first interruption from his worried thoughts was a text from Komi, which Akaashi glanced at as the boys piled into his car.

 **Komi Haruki** : _tell that moron thanks for the cat. (3:32 p.m.)_

“So that’s what kept making noise,” Akaashi murmured to himself, a tiny smile creeping to his lips. “He totally would…”

“Hi Mom!”

“Hi baby. Hey, Kenma-chan; how was school?”

“Okay,” Kenma shrugged, ducking his head.

“It was awesome! Ken and I both got perfect scores on our math assignments!” Tetsurou announced proudly.

“Good job,” Akaashi congratulated them. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t relax, fingers white on the steering wheel as they pulled out of the school parking lot. “Did you get a golden sticker?”

The boys held up their red folders covered in golden star stickers, a collection they were both proud of. Tetsu’s bright smile in the mirror made Akaashi want to cry, but he smiled instead.

“Very cool. We’ll drop Kenma-chan off and then I need to talk to you, alright?”

“Only if I can have a snack after,” Tetsurou bargained.

“Sure, sweetie.”

“Wicked!”

Was Akaashi worried? Yes. Very. Tetsurou was usually a very laid-back child, but Keiji knew his emotions better than he did, having raised him since he was born practically all on his own. He knew Tetsu wouldn’t exactly be at peace with the fact that everyone had been lying to him about his parentage. Of course, there was no doubt Tetsurou loved spending time with Bokuto, but Akaashi just wasn’t entirely certain how upset or confused the boy would be when “it” was exposed. Would he be mad he hadn’t gotten to spend all that time with Bokuto? Would he be mad his father was in prison when he could have been with them?

Akaashi knew Tetsu well, but still, he wasn’t certain.

“Bye, Kenma-chan!” Tetsurou waved to his friend, who waddled in his snow jacket up to his house. “Step on it, Mom; we’ve got to get home before my show starts!”

“Right.”

Now it was just the two of them. The radio was echoing quietly in the background, overpowered by Tetsu’s off-tune humming; he frequently glanced at his mother, who was quieter than usual, forgetting to ask more details on how his school day went. Only when he was in a bad mood did he never prompt for more fun science class stories. Tetsu wondered if Suguru had been mean to him at work, or if he had the minor injury spoken about in his New Year’s Eve fortune.

“You cool, Mom?”

“Hm?”

“Are you cool?” Tetsurou repeated. “You seem un-cool. Not in a bad way; I just mean that you seem distracted. You’re super cool!”

“You’re cool, too,” Akaashi chuckled.

He didn’t answer the question, and although Tetsurou noticed, he knew his mother well enough to not press. Angry mom was not a happy mom. _I wonder what fun stuff we have to talk about_ , the child wondered, stopping his humming as they pulled up to the house. _Well, maybe not so fun, if Mommy’s being so quiet…oh well! I want a snack._

Akaashi helped Tetsu get his jacket, scarf and mittens off in the doorway, putting away the boy’s backpack before kneeling down in front of him seriously. The ballerina stared at his son for a long moment, taking note of his cat-shaped eyes, their familiar golden hue, the mischief and curiosity inside them. The last thing Keiji wanted to do was turn those eyes cold, untrusting. He wished there was an easier way to tell Tetsurou this. Akaashi found his hand drifting upwards, cupping Tetsurou’s cheek and softly stroking the fragile skin there with his thumb as his son leaned into it like a purring cat—there was no doubt he loved his son. Keiji just hoped he could portray those feelings honestly while exposing the true nature of their bond with Bokuto Koutarou.

“Tetsu,” Akaashi murmured.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Tetsurou smiled happily, a toothy, childish grin before he leaned forward and pecked his mother’s cheek with a light kiss.

“I love you, too, Mommy!”

“Good.”

_Deep breaths. Everything will be fine._

“I have to tell you something, okay?” Keiji began cautiously. “It’s about Bokuto-san.”

The seven-year-old became a little more serious, blinking innocently while awaiting the news. Little did he know how big of a drastic turn his day would take…

“You know how I told you, when you were younger, that Shirabu was your dad?” Tetsu nodded in confirmation. “Well, I…I was lying to protect you.”

“You… _lied_?” Tetsurou repeated, as if he couldn’t believe his mother would ever do such a thing. “So, you mean that…Shirabu-san _isn’t_ my dad?”

“No, sweetie.” Akaashi shook his head. “I just told you and him that so he wouldn’t look at you differently.” _Or hurt you_.

Tetsurou contemplated this new information for a second. He broke eye-contact, wheels starting to spin inside his brain, confused at the lack of explanations it came up with; Keiji swallowed tightly, letting the boy take his hand and slide it away from his face, though he still held on. For now.

“Okay, so what does fish fryer-san have to do with that?”

“Well… _Bokuto-san_ is your real father, Tetsurou.”

The first-grader froze in his place, eyes unblinking, lip hovering open but saying nothing; the words must have been echoing inside his head over and over again, truth unable to be comprehended through the shock of previous lies. Tetsu was frighteningly quiet, golden eyes slowly blending into a dangerous bronze shade his mother had never seen before. What was he thinking right now?

“Tetsu? Are you okay?” Akaashi asked in alarm, taking both of his son’s hands with his own and squeezing them lightly. “Tetsurou?”

“But…But…he can’t be my dad,” Tetsu stammered in confusion. “You said…Shirabu was my dad. You never said that…that Bokuto-san…”

“I know, baby, but I had to tell you that to make sure you weren’t hurt. You remember how I said Shirabu-san wasn’t very nice, right?” Keiji desperately continued, trying to justify his lie. “I had to do that so h—”

Before Akaashi could fully explain, an overwhelmed Tetsurou took off, breaking from his grip and sprinting up to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. The ballerina had expected as much behavior, hurrying after the boy and quietly slipping into his room, kneeling by the bed where Tetsu was curled into a ball, hugging himself tightly and asking all the questions he didn’t have the answers for. That was his go-to method to breaking down math problems, but Akaashi wasn’t sure it would work for this.

“I don’t uh—understand,” He sniffled, hugging himself even closer. “I don’t understand…why didn’t Bokuto-san live with us? Why…w-hy wouldn’t he stay with us?”

“Tetsurou…baby, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Akaashi apologized, laying down beside him in the tiny bed and putting an arm around his trembling form. “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings…I know it’s confusing, but I promise I’ll try to answer all your questions.”

“Why—Why didn’t he want us back then?” Tetsu continued, frustratingly wiping at his face. “Instead of…Shirabu-s-san…why hasn’t he been with us? I don’t…I don’t know why, if he’s so nice…”

“Shh…I know it’s difficult to understand, Tetsu. You’re not the one who has to come up with all these answers, okay?”

“But…But…”

The dark-haired boy turned on his side so he could wrap his arms tightly around his mother’s waist, letting Akaashi cradle him closely as he began crying softly, uncertainty transforming to mourning. Keiji wished there was some way he could make things more clear, but truthfully, even _he_ didn’t completely understand the mechanisms of he and Bokuto’s past. Of course it didn’t make sense to a child why his mother and father would lie about his origins. It didn’t make sense to him that two people who loved each other all those years ago wouldn’t do everything they could to stay together. Keiji understood his conflicting emotions and desperately wished the boy’s tears away.

“D-Doesn’t Bo-kuto-san l-love us?” Tetsurou hiccupped violently against Akaashi’s chest.

“Of _course_ he does, sweetheart. More than you can imagine.”

“Then w-why…why aren’t we together?”

_Oh. Now I understand…_

Keiji didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what he could say. Nothing could give the three of them back the time they lost. Why hadn’t he fought for Bokuto’s innocence back then? Why hadn’t they sat down and had a talk about the events that transpired? Would Tetsu be better off now if they had? Akaashi felt an ache twinge inside his chest at the unknown. Guilt was unavoidable at this point—he was just horribly sorry that Tetsurou was caught in the crossfire.

Unfortunately, the only thing Akaashi could do for his son right now was be there for him—and he was starting to wonder if that would be enough.

Later that evening, when Bokuto Koutarou was taking a quick break from his shift at the fish cart, he got a call from his boyfriend. Since Keiji usually didn’t call him unless he knew he was off work, Bokuto was worried it was an emergency and quickly answered. The ballerina was relieved to hear his concerned voice, a tiny bit of tension easing from his muscles as he paced in the kitchen.

_“Hey, ‘Kaashi, what’s up? Is something wrong?”_

“Yes—well, no, nothing’s…it’s not an emergency,” Akaashi shook his head. “I…I told Tetsu. About you being his real father.”

 _“Hey hey, that’s great!”_ Bokuto cheered. _“That’s incredible! We can finally be a family!!! I’m so pumped to see him again, we’re going to have the best reunion EVER!”_

Keiji let his boyfriend be happy for a minute, keeping silent on the other line until Koutarou realized he wasn’t earning an equally triumphant response. He waited for Akaashi to speak again, but when he didn’t, Bokuto poked at his unsettling silence.

_“Uhh…this is good news, right? Now Tetsurou knows! We don’t have to pretend that bastard Shirabu is his dad anymore!”_

“It’s good that I finally told him,” Keiji agreed. “Just…didn’t get the best reaction.”

_“Eh?! What do you mean? Wasn’t he thrilled?!”_

It was the hitman’s turn to be silent as he listened to Akaashi recount the story, telling Bokuto how Tetsu had immediately become conflicted at the reveal, how he had been in his room blubbering and asking all sorts of unanswerable questions since then. He even refused to eat supper, which was something Tetsurou never did. Keiji did his best to explain the circumstances to his son without being too graphic or specific, tried to make him understand his reasons for lying without making it obvious that Shirabu would have reacted violently had he discovered Tetsu was not his son during their time together. Bokuto listened in uncharacteristic like silence, starting to understand Akaashi’s current dilemma.

“You know Tetsu…he’s happy, but he immediately jumps to questions,” Keiji explained. “He’s confused about why we haven’t been together all this time, why I lied to him, why we aren’t a family right now…”

Bokuto didn’t say a word.

“…Kou? Are you still there? Please say you are.”

 _“I’m here, just—Tetsu-chan really…reacted like that?”_ Koutarou said in utter disbelief. _“But I thought…he said he would be excited if I was part of the family! Why would he react like that if he likes me so much?”_

“I guess he gets his sensitivity from me,” The ballerina confessed quietly. “We’re both quick to skip right past our emotions and immediately start asking the big questions…”

 _“Damn. And here I thought he’d be happy,”_ Bokuto laughed, pain evident in his voice. He wasn’t the only one who fantasized about the day Tetsu found out he was his father. _“Guess I don’t know him as well as I thought, huh?”_

“It’s not…that’s my fault, not yours,” Akaashi stammered, putting a hand on his forehead stressfully. “I think—well, I mean, I _hope_ —he’ll be okay with it, just…I think he’s just confused right now, that’s all, Bokuto-san. It’s not anything against you; he’s upset with me for lying to him.”

_“Aw, don’t beat yourself up, ‘Kaashi. We’re both at equal blame, here; you did the right thing. I guess we’ll just wait and see what happens once he calms down, huh?”_

“Yeah…I guess so.”

Akaashi let out a deep, frustrated sigh, hating himself for everything that had happened up to this point—poor Tetsu didn’t deserve this kind of stress. His mother found himself wishing he had let Bokuto break the news. Maybe he was just falling deeper and deeper into self-loathing, or maybe he was worried he had just destroyed Tetsurou’s previously bright future by exposing the nasty lie.

“I just wish we both made better choices back then, you know?” Keiji admitted. “I don’t want Tetsurou to be injured from our mistakes.”

_“You and I both. But we can’t do anything about those, now; we just have to put our heads down and face it head on, alright?”_

Keiji forced himself to nod in agreement. He heard some rustling around near Tetsurou’s room, lowering his voice in case the boy was listening.

“Will you be by tonight, maybe?”

 _“Of course,”_ Bokuto accepted. _“I’ll bring some fish, okay?”_

“Okay…thanks. I love you.”

_“Love you, too. Keep your head up!”_

Akaashi hung-up, continuing to pace for several minutes until Tetsurou’s light footsteps padded into the entryway, where he stopped to stare up at his mother. His eyes were still a bit puffy and pink, but his voice was more in control and calm than it had been earlier; Keiji held his breath as Tetsu opened his mouth, praying he wasn’t about to be chewed out by his only child, even if he did deserve it.

“What’s for snack?” The boy asked softly.

“…I have some carrots in the fridge. Bokuto-san is going to bring us fish when he’s done with his shift,” Akaashi replied, staying where he was even though he wanted nothing more than to hug his son again. “Are you okay, honey?”

“Yeah,” Tetsu sniffled, wiping at his nose. “Can we go get it?”

“Get what? The fish?”

Akaashi’s son nodded again, walking forward and clinging to his mother’s leg.

“…Sure, sweetheart,” Keiji said, readily accepting the gesture. He stroked Tetsu’s hair gently, glad when those cat-like eyes peered up at him without any contempt or sadness. “We’ll go later tonight, okay? Do you want to watch your show until then?”

“Yes please.”

Tetsurou took his carrots and juice and slumped himself into the couch for the next hour or so, taking a few breaks to do some homework and practice a few math problems. Akaashi pretended he was cleaning and paying bills, but really his mind was anywhere but the present, constantly checking on his son and wondering if he should be so annoying a mom to bring up the subject of Bokuto again. Tetsu needed time to let the information sink-in, and as much as Keiji respected that, the wait was nearly unbearable.

~~~*~~~

Bokuto didn’t get nervous very often. He was very skilled at controlling his emotions, and having been killing people for a living since he was seventeen, had trained himself to be confident, certain and (mostly) level-headed. This was true, but there was no other adjective Koutarou could use to describe himself in this moment—he had three meals set aside for his little family, and once he was done covering up the fish cart, he would be going home to meet Tetsurou, knowing they were father and son, for the first time.

 _I’m sure he’s calmed down by now_ , Bokuto thought to himself, tying the tarp’s strings. _I mean, I hope he has…me and Akaashi both can’t be hot messes right now. Tetsu’s probably going to be so happy to see me! I know I’m excited to see him._

_…But what if he isn’t happy?_

Koutarou hurriedly shoved those negative thoughts away before they gained power. As he finished pinning the tarp down, he heard gentle footsteps behind him and turned around, surprised by the sight of Akaashi and Tetsurou right before him, standing a few feet away in their winter jackets and matching scarves. It gave the hitman de-ja-vu from the night he first ran into Tetsu and Keiji, after the boy snuck away without paying for his fish and was waltzed back to set things right. With that bright memory fresh in his mind, Bokuto smiled at them brightly, picking up the bag containing their supper and slowly walked closer, boots crunching quietly against the snow.

“Hey hey hey, Akaashi—how was rehearsal?”

“It was fine,” Keiji nodded, not-so-secretly peeking down at their son every few seconds. “How was work?”

“Not too shabby.”

Koutarou finally let his eyes drift down to Tetsurou, who was staring at him with intense gold cat eyes, bearing into the owl’s own. There were many silent questions being asked, but Bokuto wanted to break the ice first. Konoha might have argued that Bokuto was good at making situations awkward, but only Keiji knew how skilled his boyfriend was at mending awkward situations.

“What, no greeting, Tetsu-chan?” The fish fryer teased lightly. “I even got you your favorite: grilled mackerel pike!”

Tetsu blinked, then released his mother’s hand. Both men watched in anticipation as Tetsurou slowly walked up to Bokuto and wrapped his arms around the hitman’s legs, hugging him as tightly as possible. Hardly a second later, a loud hiccup was heard, prompting concern from Tetsu’s father.

“Woah, what’s wrong, little dude?” Koutarou asked, kneeling down and putting a hand on Tetsurou’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Bokuto was sure he had never seen someone so adorable and heartwarming as Tetsu was in that moment, staring up at him with wide, tearful eyes, lower lip trembling like there was any chance he would be rejected. He reminded Koutarou of Akaashi when he didn’t get accepted for a solo in a big showcase at the university one year. The stakes were much higher tonight, though, which was why the hitman listened so carefully when Tetsurou finally found enough courage to open his mouth and speak.

“Did…D-Did you know that…that you’re my daddy, Bokuto-san?” Tetsu asked.

Akaashi and Bokuto shared a long look. The ballerina seemed to almost be in tears himself, nodding slowly to his significant other, who quirked a tiny smile when he returned his attention to Tetsu. The boy waited eagerly, holding his breath and staring at the fish fryer as if his response would define the rest of his life. The normally bustling city of Tokyo was quiet around them, honking and talking and singing worlds away from the touching scene transpiring in a small courtyard a few blocks away.

“Yeah,” Koutarou said lowly. “Your mom told me a while ago. Is that okay?”

“Y-Yes!” Tetsurou squeaked before he burst into tears, throwing his arms around the hitman’s shoulders and hugging him tightly. The gesture was immediately returned, Bokuto lifting his son into his arms and holding him like the first time. In his mind, it was as if Tetsurou was just born today, and he was holding his baby boy for the first time ever—the sensation was so warm, so welcoming, like old friends meeting after years apart. Koutarou had never held someone this close before, encasing the child protectively as an entirely different type of love broke through to his soul.

“Don’t cry, Tetsu, it’s okay!” Bokuto laughed through his own emotions, rubbing the boy’s back in comfort.

“I’m n-not crying,” Tetsurou claimed through his sobs, wetting his father’s shoulder significantly.

“Okay, okay…”

Akaashi was standing silently to the side as the father and son reunited, but Bokuto wasn’t having that, motioning him forward until the ballerina was close enough where Koutarou could tug him by the scarf into their little group hug.

“I don’t want to intrude…” Keiji began as he was held up against Tetsu’s side.

“I want my entire family here. Don’t you, Tetsurou?” Bokuto grinned.

“Y-Yeah!” Tetsu cried, reaching one hand out for his mother.

As if Akaashi could resist that, letting his emotions get the best of him as he began crying, too, burying his face into his son’s coat as Bokuto held them close. They remained that close even when they got home, unable to be even a foot away from each other as they ate supper as a full family for the first time; Tetsu insisted they cuddle on the couch together, smashed into one “family sandwich” as the seven-year-old called it, smiling and giggling with each other for no reason. As if they needed any reason to smile, now, finally together after so many years apart—Akaashi kept wondering if he was dreaming, if he had hit his head at work and was now seeing what life _could_ be like.

But one kiss, one hug from Bokuto was all he needed to dissolve that concern, and Tetsu’s elated smile brought him back entirely.

Seven years ago, Akaashi had brought Tetsurou into this world alone. It seemed like they had been alone since then, taking on the storm side by side, missing a vital piece of the puzzle; things had finally pieced themselves back together. The universe finally decided to stop fucking over Akaashi and Bokuto’s destined romance, giving this edition another chance at normalcy, at being a regular family. It had taken a lot of tears, lies, broken trust, gained trust, second chances, everything in between, but the truth was out. _Finally_.

“I hate to be the annoying parent, but don’t you have school tomorrow, Tetsu?” Bokuto said as the boy’s bedtime was nearing.

“Noooo! I can’t go to school, now, this is too big!”

“You should get some sleep,” Akaashi agreed, stroking their son’s dark hair. He wanted to sleep, too; today had been exhausting. “Bokuto-san will be here when you wake up tomorrow. Promise.”

Tetsurou nodded in understanding, but there was one more subject he wanted to cover before he went to bed. Both of his parents listened carefully as Tetsu sat up, cat eyes flickering before locking with his father’s.

“So, um…fish fryer—I mean, Bokuto-san,” He said slowly, tapping his fingers together nervously. Who would have thought Tetsu would ever be nervous about anything? “Would it be okay if…I called you dad from now on? Since you _are_ my dad?”

“Absolutely,” The hitman nodded rapidly. On the inside, he was screaming and clapping with joy. “I would like that very much, _son_.”

“Great!” Tetsu grinned enthusiastically, giving him a quick hug before standing up and turning to his mother. “Is it okay if just dad puts me to bed, Mommy?”

“Of course.”

“I like when you do it, but I just want to see how Bokuto-san does it now that he knows he’s my dad! Did you know he’s my dad, Mom? Isn’t that so cool?!”

“I understand,” The ballerina smiled, sitting forward to give his son a long kiss. “And yes, I know he’s your dad. Goodnight, Tetsu—I love you so much.”

“Love you, too, Mom! Come on, _Dad_ , let’s go!” He motioned, tugging his father towards the stairs. “I have to rate your domestic skills!”

“I’m coming!”

Bokuto shot a smile at Akaashi before running off towards Tetsu’s room, leaving his boyfriend behind in the living room to relive the past few hours of his life. Sometimes he really thought this was all a dream, that one day he would wake up inside that ugly mansion with Shirabu, stuck at home under his dictatorship with no one to talk to but Tetsurou. Bokuto was still rotting away in prison somewhere, having never met his child or even known he existed. Akaashi didn’t like to think he was a pessimist, but lately, since Bokuto Koutarou had reinserted himself into the ballerina’s life, he couldn’t help but think it was all a beautiful movie scene playing out inside his unconscious mind.

_If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up._

While Bokuto was putting their son to bed as a father for the first time, Keiji found himself wandering to the balcony; he opened the doors quietly, welcoming the sharp wind that clashed against his face. Akaashi leaned his elbows on the railing and just looked for a minute, seeing the bright Tokyo lights peek through the dark clouds all around their block, snow piles weighing down the trees in their backyard. Keiji didn’t really feel anything when he looked at them, but a second later he was crying softly, head pressed against the railing as tears froze against his pale cheeks.

Maybe Akaashi had repressed his emotions too much over the years. He had too many conflicting feelings all bottled up and exploding in one time bomb named Bokuto Koutarou. Keiji tried to compose himself so the attention would stay on Tetsu and his father, but judging on how puffy his eyes were already, it would probably be pretty obvious he had been bawling.

“You know,” Bokuto’s voice started, suddenly leaning on the balcony beside Akaashi. “I heard rumors in prison, but I never did figure out why the clan leaders set me up for that murder. It’s been weighing on me for seven-years…and being here with you and Tetsu, getting to know you again and see everything I missed—I’ve never wanted revenge on them more than I do right now.”

The ballerina sniffled a few times, peeking up at Bokuto curiously.

“But I won’t. You know why?”

Akaashi didn’t have to answer that, understanding when Koutarou straightened him up and kissed him deeply; the winter wind was all but forgotten, heat encasing Keiji’s entire being even when Bokuto leaned back to stare at him intently.

“Because I want _this_ ,” The hitman stressed. “I want this family, us, Tetsurou, here in Nekoma. I don’t want to miss another seven years of Tetsu’s life, and I don’t want to be apart from you again. I wouldn’t risk you two for any trophy or revenge fantasy—and I mean that, Keiji.”

“I know you do,” Keiji nodded, nodded again. “And I don’t mean to think selfishly or bring the attention back to me, but I’m—I’m _sorry_ , Bokuto-san…I owe you, just…the biggest apology ever. I can’t even begin to…say how sorry I am, about Tetsu, about everything.”

“Unnecessary, but I accept.”

 _“Unnecessary?”_ Akaashi repeated in disbelief. The tears were gone, now, replaced by that defensive fire Koutarou loved seeing. “What do you mean? Bokuto-san, do you realize I left you rotting in prison for six years as I raised our son without even telling you he existed?”

“And do you realize I lied to you about my job for four years and then got arrested right in front of you for murder? _And_ left you behind for six years?”

“So? My lying was _way_ worse than yours!”

“Nuh uh! Mine was more traumatic!”

“No it wasn’t!”

“Yeah huh!”

Akaashi’s midnight blue eyes narrowed at Bokuto’s yellow ones, the two glaring at each other for less than ten seconds before Koutarou lost his intensity, bursting into loud laughter that triggered a similar response in his boyfriend. It was nearly impossible not to laugh when Bokuto or his son started giggling—Keiji was glad for that fact, happy to let a lighter emotion defeat his doubts and past sorrows.

“Look at us, freezing our asses off outside while arguing about who fucked up more,” Koutarou laughed, sliding his fingers through Keiji’s. “We’re idiots.”

“Seems like it,” Akaashi smiled. His pink eyelids fluttered closed as Bokuto’s finger wiped the moisture off his face, letting himself be pulled into a tight hug that felt like home. “…But I love you, anyway.”

“Right back at ya, ‘Kaashi.”

It would have been nicer to go inside where it was warm and toasty, but Akaashi felt so comfortable where he was, ready to fall asleep in Koutarou’s arms until he felt something rub against his upper thigh.

“Really, Bokuto-san?” The ballerina murmured into his chest. “Did my pathetic crying really turn you on?”

“No, it’s not that!” Bokuto claimed, shaking his head violently and stepping away. “I just—it wasn’t—it wasn’t that you were pathetic, it was just the teary eyes part! You know I have a weird thing about your eyes when they get all misty and stuff…they’re pretty, and, well…you know…”

“I’m so tired,” Akaashi sighed deeply, none-the-less taking his boyfriend’s hand and leading him back inside. “You’ll have to do most of the work.”

Bokuto only understood when Keiji began pulling him towards the staircase, making an excited expression and nearly running into the ballerina as he opened a narrow door that led to another flight of stairs. Koutarou didn’t know this room even existed, moonlight allowing him to see racks of ballet costumes, awards, framed pictures and newspaper clippings hung on the walls. He didn’t get to see much else, though, tugged over to where a large chair sat in the corner of the room and placed in front of it as Akaashi peered up at him, tired eyes turning just a bit wicked.

“Get to work, pervert,” He taunted.

“Tch. I’ll show _you_ a pervert…” Bokuto quickly tugged off his own shirt, repeating the gesture with Akaashi’s and smirking when the ballerina immediately shivered. “What’s so special about this room, anyway?”

For being exhausted, Keiji did a pretty unfair job at enticing his boyfriend by leaning up so his lips were right up against the taller man’s ear and whispering darkly:

“ _It’s soundproof_. _”_

Keiji now knew the quickest way to ensure his clothes get ripped off, letting Bokuto man-handle him until they were both naked, the hitman roughly pulling Akaashi onto his lap as he sat down in the chair. Koutarou was already as hard as a rock, shoving his thick fingers into Keiji’s mouth, feeling the ballerina’s soft tongue until he had enough lubricant. Akaashi showed him just how soundproof the room was by letting out a loud yelp when those fingers were suddenly in his ass, hurriedly moving and thrusting in and out to loosen the hole up.

“Good,” Bokuto said in response to Keiji’s last statement. “Then I can make you cry as _loud_ as I want.”

The fragile ballerina wasn’t prepared for what was to come, whining and pleading for who knows what as Bokuto roughly prepared him, already abusing his hole until it was red and swollen, achingly tight despite the treatment it just received. Akaashi could feel those strong hands adjusting his hips and legs, waiting for a kiss or a sloppy bite or _anything_ aside from Koutarou lining his thick member up and immediately pushing Keiji’s body down to meet his first thrust. Akaashi’s eyes went wide, a high-pitched shout escaping his now agape mouth, and Bokuto could feel sharp nails suddenly digging into his shoulders.

_I hope these walls are REALLY soundproof._

“Kou!” Akaashi yelped, body tensing and causing the muscles around Koutarou’s cock to quiver even more. It was maddening, but he kept himself under control for just one more moment. “Wa-it…s-slow down…”

“You said you were tired,” The hitman replied simply, tightening his grip on Akaashi’s hips so he could control their movements. “We better finish quickly so the beautiful ballerina can get some rest, hm?”

Bokuto lifted his boyfriend up slowly, feeling the quivering ridges cling to his leaking member as they were forcibly pulled off, only the puffy tip remaining—then, Koutarou slammed him back down while thrusting his own hips up, groaning in relief when he sunk even deeper than before into Akaashi’s insides. Keiji could do nothing but moan again, holding on for dear life as his boyfriend began putting in the real work.

Surely there was no other reason for this chair other than for Bokuto to fuck his boyfriend in, getting into a brutal rhythm of pushing and propelling, cramming himself into every nook and cranny of Akaashi’s hole as the ballerina sobbed, body even limper than before. His own dick was flopping around, untouched by Bokuto and still managing to slowly become aroused the more he was forced down upon Koutarou’s monstrous cock, unable to ask himself if he would ever be the same after tonight. It didn’t matter so much—Bokuto would always find new ways to make him feel amazing, even if he was confining himself to just one area of Akaashi’s exquisite body.

When Keiji finally thought Koutarou was going to take a break from ruining his hole, thrusts getting stronger and stronger below and launching the ballerina up and down on his lap, Bokuto would somehow go even harder, using all his strength to command Keiji’s hips. All the while, his husky, confident voice relentlessly teased Akaashi whenever he moaned. Normally it irritated his boyfriend, but tonight, it was bringing him closer to the edge.

“ _Uh, uh, uh, uh_ —aa-hhh!”

“Can’t even speak?” Bokuto taunted, not even allowing his lips to graze against Keiji’s throat. “Got nothing to say, baby?”

“I…Iii…”

“Mhm…that’s what I thought.”

Akaashi’s mind was mush. He couldn’t even _consider_ being mad at Bokuto, not when he was using him so deliciously, not when the ballerina could feel his boyfriend’s cock pulse when it stayed inside his hole for a long second, dragging out the burning heat and scraping against every one of Keiji’s good spots. Their noises bounced off every wall and corner, Bokuto’s huffs of exertion, Akaashi’s pathetic screams and cries, the chair legs dragging against the floor with every harsh thrust upwards. Koutarou had yet to release his tight grip on Keiji’s hips, keeping himself locked into focus even as he felt a spurt of liquid leak against his abs.

“Are you satisfied yet?” Bokuto asked mockingly, even though he was nearing his end as well. He held Akaashi up off his prick for a long moment, letting the fluids drip and keep them connected before slamming him back down, relishing in the long cry he received in response. “Hm? What do you think, Keiji?”

“N-o…no.” Akaashi didn’t even know what he was saying. All he knew was _need_ , and he needed to stop whatever was making him tear up Bokuto’s skin. “Noo…”

“No? What do you mean?”

Koutarou was ruthless in his movements, knowing exactly what spots he was bashing his cock against, knowing his boyfriend loved how sensitive the ring of his hole was after being pulled in and out until it was raw. He moved his hips slightly, just so his next thrust would hit at a completely different angle; Akaashi’s noise caught in his throat, making a choking sound as he felt a violent burning erupt in his groin.

“I know you can’t mean _this_. I can tell you’re close…I know, because when you’re close, your eyes start to get teary, and your lip quivers, and down here—” Bokuto grunted, holding Keiji down on his throbbing cock for longer on each thrust, just to feel each individual ridge stimulate his tip. “You start to freeze up.”

The hitman’s patient thrusts didn’t last longer than a minute, and Akaashi was taken aback by how quickly he picked up the pace, suddenly finding himself bouncing on Bokuto’s pulsating member at an alarming rate. His hole couldn’t respond quick enough, tightening and doing a poor job of defending itself as Bokuto quickly battered its barriers. Keiji was definitely crying at this point, and even more moisture fell out when his eyes widened, then clamped shut tightly when his stomach clenched up—Koutarou smiled to himself as cum leaked all over his torso, reveling in the beautiful symphony of Akaashi’s frantic cries.

“See?” The hitman said lowly. “I told you so.”

“ _Ah-ah, ah, ah, a-h_ ,” Keiji sobbed, body too exhausted to even jolt with pleasure. “Bo…Bo-k…”

“Don’t worry, babe—I’m not done yet.”

Just when Akaashi thought it was over, that he had done his part, Bokuto adjusted his trembling thighs and resumed their fucking, using all his remaining power and speed for the last hurrah. Keiji yelped when his sensitive cock was mashed up against Bokuto’s chest, pulled as close as possible so the hitman could feel his dick bulge through the ballerina’s stomach. Deeper groans began filling the air, chair creaking at an alarming level but keeping steady while Koutarou slammed upwards over and over again. He could feel it getting closer, now, what with Akaashi’s incredible noises and the extreme stiffness of his insides; Bokuto squeezed his eyes shut just to compose himself, then opened them back up and pushed Akaashi back so he could see his face.

And what a breathtaking face it was.

Akaashi’s pretty, deep blue eyes were covered in glistening waterfalls, dripping off his dark eyelashes and puffy eyelids, cascading down onto his red cheeks, all the way down to his vivacious jugular. He looked ruined enough, as if Bokuto had fucked his face and not his body, skin rosy, hair moist with sweat, eyebrows crinkled together like they always did when he was completely overwhelmed…it was beautiful. He was beautiful. Bokuto didn’t hold his composure for any longer, holding onto that image as he forced Keiji’s body down, holding it there firmly as his cock jerked once, twice, then came deep inside Akaashi’s hole. The ballerina trembled, whimpering weakly and letting out louder moan when he felt burning heat fill every crevasse of his insides. He was very faintly, _vaguely_ aware of what they had forgotten before this started.

Bokuto finally, _finally_ let Akaashi slump against him, moaning softly whenever another spurt of cum pooled out; their muscles were as tense as they could possibly be, although Koutarou was momentarily concerned when Keiji made no attempts to even adjust his knees, which had been rubbing against the harsh fabric of the chair since the beginning. Bokuto subtly checked his pulse and let him be for a long while, waiting until he thought the ballerina’s heartrate was back to normal (and until Akaashi wasn’t crying anymore.)

“Kaashi.”

“Hm?” Akaashi murmured, barely aware of his surroundings. Getting fucked within an inch of his life should have made him excited, but it only made him more exhausted.

“I love you.”

Somehow, Keiji found a tiny, tiny stash of strength left, using it to lean back just enough where his forehead was pressed against Bokuto’s; he looked deep into those golden, electric owl eyes for a minute, contemplating the meaning of those words. It would be nice to hear that more often, to hear it be said so Tetsurou could hear, understand how deeply his parents loved each other…yeah. That was what families did. Akaashi was glad to be in a wonderful family, no matter how long it had taken, no matter how many non-explicit tears it had taken to get to this point.

“Say it again,” He begged quietly.

“I love you, Keiji.” Bokuto smiled so sweetly it almost gave Akaashi a heart attack, a wild comparison to his actions ten-minutes ago. “I really love you.”

“ _Again_.”

Thick lips laid against Keiji’s sweaty forehead, kissing the skin softly.

“I love you.”

Bokuto moved to the cheek, doing the same thing there.

“I love you.”

Now, the small, up-turned nose.

“I love you.”

Bokuto paused over Keiji’s deprived lips, hovering near enough they could feel each other’s breath.

“I love you, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi exhaled.

That earned him the gentlest kiss he had ever received, and it must have had a touch of magic as well, because Keiji was asleep within minutes, cradled snugly against Bokuto’s body. There was a hell of a mess between them (and inside them…) but Koutarou decided to not be responsible and forget about it; he focused more on stroking Akaashi’s hair as he slept soundly, adoring his little hiccupping breaths and the slow rise of his chest as he breathed. It was comforting to Bokuto, and he let Keiji know it.

“I dreamt about you, you know,” Bokuto confessed quietly. “Every night, in that tiny cell…I would dream about you, ‘Kaashi. I would dream about you dancing, coming home to me, our life together in another world…but I’m happy we get another chance in this world.”

His lips pressed against Akaashi’s dark hair, staying in that exact position as if it would bring him eternal peace.

“I don’t care if I lose my everything,” The hitman whispered. “I’m never letting you go again.”

~~~*~~~

Tetsurou had been bragging about his new dad at school all day long. His friends were thrilled for him, and they even planned a “Dad’s Only” barbeque once all the snow melted away; Terushima wrote down some puns they could use. Kenma hated puns, but they were funny when Tetsu told them. When school got out for the day, Tetsurou said goodbye to his friends, waving at Kenma’s miserable face when his mom drove him off to the dentist, and he waited by the front lawn for Akaashi to come get him.

 _Man, I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming!_ Tetsu shook his head, annoyed he hadn’t guessed Bokuto was his father. _Now I have a great mommy AND a great daddy who can kick butt! Take that, Suguru. Now you can’t flirt with my mom anymore._

As he was waiting, a fancy man wearing a maroon suit appeared out of nowhere and stood beside him, hands in his pockets, light brown eyes staring down at Tetsurou, who looked back with a cocked eyebrow. He didn’t recognize this doofus as any parent of his friends’, certain he would remember that nasty little haircut (who cut their bangs like that?), but this man seemed to know him.

“…Waiting for your mom?” The stranger asked.

“Yeah. What’s it to you, old man?” Tetsu narrowed his eyes. He liked the man’s shoes, but nothing else about him.

“Just wondering,” The man smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. It was a suspicious smile, one Tetsu saw from bad guys on TV. “Doesn’t your mom ever comb your hair before you come to school?”

“Doesn’t your mom comb yours?” Tetsurou spat back.

That shut the stranger up for a minute. They both looked on as more kids were picked up by their parents, schoolyard becoming emptier; Tetsu wasn’t worried this punk would kidnap him. He was good at screaming and biting. Plus, he could probably just bully this guy about his stupid haircut and he would go away.

“…Are you picking up your kid?” Tetsu asked politely, trying to make conversation.

“I’m not sure,” The man answered with a shrug. “Am I?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I asked you. _Duh_.”

This dude was getting on Tetsu’s nerves. He glanced around more intently, hoping his mom’s car would come down the street at any second. If this guy wasn’t picking up his own kid, what was he doing here?

“Do you need a ride somewhere?”

“No. My mommy’s just coming from ballet practice,” Tetsurou answered, inching further away from this creepy guy. “He’ll be here soon.”

“If you say so. But I’ve always known Akaashi-kun to be the unreliable type,” The man said.

That got Tetsu’s attention. He looked up at the stranger curiously, wondering if that was a lie—Akaashi had never mentioned someone like him. Tetsurou would definitely remember that conversation. Why would someone this lame know his mother? And why was he saying Akaashi was unreliable? That was rude.

“…You know my mom?” He wondered. “How?”

The stranger smiled in a weird way, then, but the creepiness was interrupted by the loud roar of a motorcycle; Tetsu thought he heard the man curse, but he was too preoccupied with the appearance of Bokuto, who had pulled up to the school and was taking his helmet off.

_Man, I wish my friends were still here to see this! My dad is so cool._

“Hey, there’s my daddy!” Tetsurou pointed happily.

“…What?”

The man sounded stunned, but Tetsu wasn’t paying attention anymore.

“That’s my dad, over there—gotta go!”

_Hopefully see you never!_

Tetsurou ran off in Bokuto’s direction, leaving the weird guy to go off somewhere just as Akaashi came pulling up as well. Koutarou spotted his son running over to him and held his arms open wide, twirling the boy around before setting him back down and ruffling his hair up.

“How was school, buddy?”

“Great! Hey, that’s a sweet bike! Can I ride it home?!”

“ _Absolutely_ not,” Akaashi said, smiling at his son as he walked up.

“Aww, come on, Mom!” Tetsu pleaded, hugging his mother’s leg. “I promise to wear a helmet!”

“Not a chance.”

“Alright, alright…”

“What do you want for supper tonight, Tetsu?” Bokuto asked, smiling as the boy took both his parent’s hands as they walked to Keiji’s car. “Thai? Chinese? Hot dogs?”

“Hot dogs, please!”

Akaashi helped his son get buckled in, closing the door and turning to accept a kiss from his boyfriend, who pressed him against the car a bit indecently as he asked about his day.

“How are you on this fine winter day?” Bokuto asked with a grin.

“Good. Are you staying over tonight?”

“Will you let me?”

“Hmm…I suppose,” The ballerina shrugged. “If you don’t freeze your ass off on the way home.”

Akaashi slid out of his grip slyly, rolling his eyes when Bokuto stuck his tongue out at him. They didn’t know they were being watched as they drove off towards Nekoma, a sleek black car parked behind a row of buses down the road, where Shirabu was steaming in his seat. His driver had never been so terrified of the dark aura oozing off his boss, and figured his life was in danger—even so, he swallowed his terror and spoke.

“W-What’s wrong, boss?”

Shirabu didn’t answer for a long time. His face was red, a vein looking as if it were about to pop from stress; he seemed to be stewing on something, eyes rabid, mind racing to control the fury it felt, forcing a tiny sense of reason into his decision making skills. There was no reason to believe what a child said. There was reason to fact-check it, however, given that boy was most likely under the influence of Bokuto Koutarou.

If what Shirabu now believed turned out to be true, he had entirely different reasons for wanting Akaashi and his family dead.

“Get Fukurodani’s informant, and take him to the basement in headquarters,” Shirabu hissed darkly. “I need confirmation, and I need it _now_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, we're at chapter 7...weird. hope i dont hit a wall soon...haha...ugh. anyway, thanks for reading, and thanks for commenting! Hope you're still intrigued by the drama of not using condoms...


	8. "and love you again"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hand kinks & domestic fluff

_“I wish I could meet you in my dreams_

_And love you again_

_Just like this”_

It was just a precaution. It would probably turn out to be nothing, anyway. That’s what Akaashi Keiji told himself as he exited the bathroom, holding a pregnancy test in his hands; reason told him it wasn’t likely, that just because Bokuto had came inside him one time meant he would immediately become pregnant. Not that he underestimated Bokuto’s ability. Akaashi was good at reasoning, being a mother and all, but the tiny doubts hiding in the back of his mind begged for backup. Just in case. Keiji didn’t have ballet practice today, so he texted Konoha and asked him to come over without giving any clues as to what was actually going on. The front door opened when Akaashi sat down at the coffee table, staring blankly at the plastic stick in his hand.

“Yo. What’s hanging, Aka—”

Konoha stopped dead in his tracks, eyebrow raising suspiciously when he came across a dejected Akaashi sitting in the living room. He recognized the item he was holding and couldn’t stop a knowing grin, plopping down beside his best friend on the couch.

“Ohhhh, so _that’s_ why you called me over,” Konoha teased. “You and Mr. Ex-Hitman forgot to use protection, huh?”

“We didn’t forget,” Akaashi admitted through his teeth. “We just…”

“Were too horny about each other to care, yeah. Is this for real? Are you feeling sick?”

“Not exactly.”

“Well, do your ovaries feel all tingly from banging Bokuto’s sperm?”

“How would I know how that feels, Konoha?” The ballerina closed his eyes stressfully.

“I’m just curious as to why you’re taking a pregnancy test when so far there’s been no symptoms. I mean, I’ve never gotten knocked-up before, so I wouldn’t know, but don’t you get weird feelings in your stomach and heart and shit?” Akinori wondered curiously.

His friend pondered these reasonable statements. It was true that he hadn’t felt sick or off lately…in fact, he was feeling better than ever, health wise, maybe because he wasn’t sleeping alone anymore, or maybe because Bokuto had been spending more time with their family than at work or at his own apartment. There was a happiness overwhelming Akaashi’s aura he couldn’t quite describe. It was similar to when Tetsurou was born and the ballerina’s entire world shifted on its axis. Maybe it was on account of an old love returning, reinforcing all those happy memories from years before—maybe because everything was going so well, Akaashi didn’t want anything to interrupt.

“Not that I wouldn’t be happy if Bokuto and I were pregnant again,” Keiji answered out-loud. Akinori seemed to understand where he was coming from, listening closely on the other side of the couch. “I’ll be happy either way, even though I don’t think the test will be positive…but…I guess I’m just _concerned?”_

The darker haired man shook his head in frustration, tossing the plastic stick down on the coffee table.

“I don’t know. I’m just… _mad_ at myself for some reason.”

Akaashi slumped against the corner of the couch and buried his face into a pillow. Konoha didn’t really have any good advice to give, since he had never been in this position before, but he knew by now that Akaashi didn’t always want advice. Sometimes he just needed to sulk in his own self-hatred until the ballerina realized how awesome he was, and when that moment came, Akinori would be there. He glanced around the living room for a few minutes, taking note of the blue crane sitting on top of the fireplace, the one Bokuto had gotten for Keiji at New Year’s—

 _I bet he would be happy to have another kid with Keiji_ , the boutique owner thought to himself. _Scratch that: he’d be thrilled to have another kid with Keiji. That’s why I always thought they’d be good together…Akaashi’s a high-strung, independent realist, and Bokuto’s—well, Bokuto. He’s a moron, but somehow manages to be Akaashi’s equal half. Tetsu-chan’s a good example of that. Another one of him would be pretty amazing._

_So, where does that leave me in this situation? Encouragement?_

“…I slept with Saruki,” Konoha said suddenly.

“…For real?” Akaashi peeked up from his pillow, eyes widening in surprise. “When?”

 _Distraction_.

“The night of Komi’s wedding. I may have been pretty drunk, but from what I remember…well, that boy’s mother should be proud. If you know what I mean.”

“Wow. Who would’ve thought?”

“I know, right?” Konoha smirked. “He’s been holding out on me all these years. When I woke up, his number was in my phone, I had all the covers and he came waddling back into the room with food he stole from the breakfast buffet. Do you realize that’s more than all my exes did _combined_ after we slept together?”

“Are you saying you’ve finally met your match, Konoha Akinori?” Keiji smiled.

It was Akinori’s time to huff and pout, now, shrugging and crossing his arms to try and come up with a suitable answer. He hated dating. He would rather just carry around his dildo charm and see what fate dropped on the doorstep for him. Not everyone could live-out a romantic comedy like Bokuto and Akaashi.

“I mean, I don’t know…he’s…cute and all,” Konoha murmured, fixing his hair as a distraction for himself. “I wouldn’t mind, you know—hooking up with him again.”

“Coming from you, that’s basically a marriage proposal. Why don’t you call him tonight?”

“Maybe I will.” Akinori nodded at the pregnancy test. “What does that little stick of fate say? You prego?”

Keiji forced himself to set the pillow aside, keeping it close just in case he decided to ask Konoha to suffocate him; after a second of visible hesitation, the ballerina picked up the test again. It was ready to give its diagnosis. The ballerina held his breath tightly, suddenly realizing how big this news would be to both Tetsu and Bokuto…and Akaashi himself. If it was positive, Bokuto would have to move in with them, and Tetsurou would probably want them to get married, and Akaashi would only have a few months of dancing left before taking a leave of absence—so many pieces would be changing. Life as Keiji knew it would change, except this time, he and Bokuto would be parenting together. He wouldn’t be alone in the delivery room, either.

The more Akaashi considered the matter, the more anxious he became, and finally brought his attention to the previously blank circle on the stick: blue was the first color he saw, one straight line signaling a negative sign.

“No. It’s negative.” Akaashi dropped his head again, grabbing the pillow and shoving it back into his face as Konoha snatched the test to see. “Uggghhh! How could I have let this happen at a time like this? Is there something wrong with me? This is the _last_ thing I should be worried about right now.”

“Didn’t you just say you’d be happy no matter what, Keiji?”

“Of course, but why am I suddenly so _irresponsible_ , Konoha? What’s gotten into me? Why the hell would _I_ , a single mother who _hates_ messes, let my ex-con boyfriend cum _inside_ me?!”

“Well, Akaashi-kun,” Konoha exhaled, slapping a hand onto his friend’s shoulder as he kept his face hidden in the pillow. “You may act all cool and collected, but only I, your best friend, know how much of a horny slut you become when Bokuto strips off his clothes. And when he has all his clothes _on_.”

“Shut up. Like you’re any better.”

“Jeez, I sleep with someone for the first time in ages and you’re pissed at me? What about that good luck charm you gave me?”

Akinori could practically see Akaashi rolling his eyes. He investigated the test curiously, remembering seven-years before when they were young dance punks, and Keiji took a test similar to this one in the bathroom of their ballet studio. Konoha had been the one to get excited first, not letting Akaashi think about the if’s and but’s of his surprise pregnancy, forcing him to give into his happiness; their dance instructor was annoyed at their screaming and shouting, further prompting Konoha to realize how much he had come to dislike ballet, but who could care about that when his best friend was going to have a baby?

Konoha found himself a little disappointed when he set the negative pregnancy test onto the coffee table. It would have been nice to be a godparent again.

“Well, that’s that, then. You’re not prego,” Akinori announced as Akaashi sat back up to breathe. “ _Yet_.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The ballerina narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, nothing. Hey, you got anything to eat around here?”

Keiji hurriedly followed his friend into the kitchen, where Konoha began raiding the fridge for a snack as the ballerina contemplated the meaning of Akinori’s added comment.

“…Are you saying you think I’m going to actually _be_ pregnant soon?”

“Look, Keiji, it’s nothing to be ashamed of—you’re horny for your boyfriend who you’ve been desperately in love with since you were seventeen. It’s totally normal for you two to be all over each other whenever you get time alone! I applaud your stamina. I’m just saying that it’s only a matter of time, given you’re probably about to move in together soon…”

“Well, I think you’re wrong,” Akaashi said stubbornly.

“Okay?” Konoha shrugged, pouring himself a glass of chocolate milk and unpeeling an orange. “It doesn’t really matter what you think, Keiji—just how you feel. And you feel horny for Bokuto 24/7, am I right?”

“No!”

“Oh, come _on_.”

“I’m not always thinking about him!” Akaashi insisted, snatching the glass away from his friend. “I think about him and Tetsurou equally! Besides, I have way more things to worry about with Tetsu, anyway; he has school, and all his friends, and his homework—I would never choose to sleep with Bokuto over doing something with my son!”

“Ha!” Konoha pointed at him aggressively. “You just did it again, you horny bitch!”

“I did not!”

“Did so!”

“Why am I talking to _you_ about this?” Akaashi waved him off, letting the boutique owner snatch his milk back. “You’re a rich, bitter person—you have no children, no car, and no boyfriend. How could you understand what I’m going through right now?”

“Pft. Is that an insult?” Konoha snorted. “You’re just mad because you know I’m right! But who cares about this, anyway—you’re not pregnant, which means we’re still on for Paris next week. We’re going to drink the best wine in the entire world, eat our weight in cheeses and bread, wear our coolest, most fashionable clothing and shop ‘till we drop. Right?”

Paris. Akaashi had almost forgotten about that. He had a weeks-worth of ballet shows in France, and Akinori was coming along for some fashion shows and shopping. Normally when Keiji was on tour, he had Kaori help Konoha with Tetsurou, but since they would both be gone…who did that leave Akaashi to ask? He knew the answer to that, of course.

“Right…Paris,” Keiji recalled blankly. “I almost forgot about that.”

“Well don’t forget to pack, dumbass, because I don’t plan on wearing the same underwear for longer than a few hours. If you know what I mean.”

“Why don’t you just bring Saruki along instead of hooking up with French guys?” The single mother sighed deeply, sitting beside him and taking a piece of Konoha’s orange. “If he impressed you so much, you should show your appreciation by inviting him.”

“…I really hate when you’re right.”

“And I hate when _you’re_ right.”

The friends both let out more deep sighs and ate their orange in silence. At least one thing hadn’t changed in seven years—Akaashi could still count on Konoha for anything. He wanted his best friend to find happiness, too, have his own family, even though the boutique owner said the only kid he liked was Tetsurou. Konoha had third-wheeled enough during the golden days between Akaashi and Bokuto; the ballerina wouldn’t mind playing that role in Paris. In fact, it would be quite intriguing to have a front row seat to the first relationship Akinori had experienced in years.

Konoha suddenly felt Akaashi staring at him, glaring at the other suspiciously as he stuffed the last orange bite into his mouth.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” He mumbled.

“Nothing. I’m just glad we’ll get to spend some time together in Paris.”

“No homo, Akaashi. As hot as a threesome would be, I don’t think Saruki would be up for it. Yet.”

“So you’ll ask him to come with?” Keiji said hopefully.

“Sure, why not? I can be his sugar daddy for a week,” Konoha shrugged. Secretly, he was excited at the prospect of bringing along a date. “It could be fun. We’ll drag him along shopping; that should excite him greatly.”

Akaashi chuckled at that, glancing off into space as Akinori took a second to stare at his best friend, wondering what he was thinking. Years ago, he might have been able to guess, but things were different, now; Keiji had a kid, his old/new boyfriend back, a career as a prima ballerina…almost everything about their situation had changed. Konoha still liked to tell himself he knew Akaashi pretty well.

“…You wanna know what I think, Keiji-kun?”

“Hm?”

Konoha was giving the ballerina a serious look when he glanced back over.

“I think you took that pregnancy test hoping it’d be positive,” Leclair’s owner said boldly. “Maybe then you could finally get yourself to believe that Bokuto’s here to stay.”

Akaashi opened his mouth to retort, but found he had nothing to say. They were interrupted by the front door opening, Bokuto’s jolly voice and Tetsurou’s giggly laugh taking over the conversation. Tetsu was hanging onto his father’s leg as they walked inside, grinning ear-to-ear as they found Akaashi and Konoha in the kitchen. Bokuto had been picking up his son from school more often, now, and Keiji was happy to share some of the parenting duties. Tetsurou seemed pleased about it, too, though he still begged to have a motorcycle ride every time he saw Bokuto driving his. A new routine was starting to take shape, and Akaashi wondered if maybe Konoha was right.

“Hey, Uncle Konoha!”

“What’s up, Tetsu?”

“Daddy’s a monster, and I caught him!” Tetsurou said excitedly, releasing Bokuto’s leg. “Hey, is that an orange? Can I have one?”

“Not until you come give me a kiss,” Akaashi ordered. Tetsu obliged, stretching up on his tippy-toes and kissing his mother’s cheek. “Good boy. How was school?”

“It was good! Is Konoha-chan gonna stay for supper?”

“Nah, I’m on an all-wine diet,” Akinori waved off, standing up.

“But you just drank all my chocolate milk!” Tetsu accused, pointing at the empty glass.

“Well, chocolate milk is like wine for kids, right? Oh, man, I almost forgot—I left my phone in the living room…”

Akaashi’s blood ran cold when he suddenly remembered the piece of evidence that was still sitting on the coffee table in the living room, but a wink from Konoha made him relax. Bokuto came over and greeted him with a kiss, looking ever-so-handsome in a scarf and winter jacket.

“Hey,” Koutarou smiled happily. “How are you?”

“I’m good…how was your day?”

“Can’t complain. Broke a new record at the gym.”

“Oh?” Akaashi said, trying to pretend he wasn’t interested. “Impressive.”

“Want me to demonstrate my skills?” The hitman teased dangerously.

“No, that’s okay.”

“Aww, come on, it’ll be fun, won’t it, Tetsu?”

“Mom-my, Mom-my, Mom-my!” Tetsurou chanted.

“No, I really don—”

Bokuto grabbed his boyfriend and threw him over his head, getting a shriek from Keiji as Tetsurou cheered loudly; the hitman began pushing him up and down like he was lifting weights, grinning at Akaashi’s terror as he tried to stay deathly still in fear of being dropped like a bag of flour. Konoha was snickering as he exited the front door, helping with one problem and leaving Akaashi trapped inside another.

“S-Stop, Bokuto!” Keiji yelped, body tense as he was heaved up and down, over and over again towards the ceiling. “I’m going to fall!”

“No you’re not! I would never let that happen!” Koutarou insisted. “Oh, wait—I—I think I’m losing my grip, ‘Kaashi.”

“PUT ME DOWN!”

“Uh oh! My hand, it’s slipping—oh no!”

With one final shove into the air, Akaashi began to fall towards the hard tile below, only to land in waiting arms that effortlessly caught the fragile ballerina, pulling him in against a chiseled chest and holding him there snugly. Tetsurou clapped his hands in triumph, cheering for Bokuto who was grinning down at his boyfriend, though the gesture was not returned. Akaashi was closer to having a heart-attack, fingernails digging into whatever solid structure he could reach, which happened to be Koutarou’s strong shoulder muscles; he was still shaking even after being held for a solid thirty-seconds.

“And who says I can’t be your ballet partner?”

“ _I_ say,” Keiji hissed back. “Now put me down, _please_.”

Bokuto sensed the threatening tone and gently set his beloved boyfriend back on the ground, waiting until his legs stopped shaking to back away; he and Tetsu stood by anxiously, waiting as Akaashi got himself back together, adjusting his red turtleneck and jeans. When he was certain he had got his courage back, Keiji sent a sharp look their way, crossing his arms sternly.

“Okay. Absolutely _no more_ weight-lifting demonstrations. Am I clear?”

Tetsurou and his father both put their heads down, shrinking in regret.

“Yes, Mommy…”

“Bokuto?”

“Yes, ‘Kaashi…” The fish fryer agreed.

“Good,” Keiji huffed. It was one stressful thing after the other with these two, wasn’t it? Oh well…at least he had a good seven-years of rest. “Now that we’ve got that settled…I need to discuss something with you two. Come sit at the table.”

Bokuto and Tetsu quickly obeyed, Tetsurou sneaking his stool closer to hug his mother for brownie points; Bokuto tried the same thing and was quickly shrugged off, making a face at his son when Tetsu stuck his tongue out at him. Akaashi got their attention back and started off the conversation.

“So. There’s a decision we have to make today.”

“Mom, is this about your trip to Paris?” Tetsurou prompted, eyes widening excitedly. “Do I get to come?!”

“No. But I’m going to give you two the choice,” Akaashi continued, looking between both of them seriously. “I’ll be gone for one week doing ballet shows in France. Now, Tetsu: usually you stay with Konoha, but since Konoha-kun is coming with me, that option isn’t available. So—would you like to stay with Yachi and Kiyoko for a week, or, do you want to stay here with your dad?”

Bokuto wanted to yell out in excitement, but stopped himself short, returning Tetsurou’s excited look.

“Daddy and I would get the house to ourselves for a whole _week_?!” The boy asked in amazement. That sounded like heaven to him. “Yeah, let’s do that!!! I can stay with dad!”

“Well, hold on a minute. We have to ask Bokuto-san what he thinks,” Akaashi pointed out, glancing at his boyfriend. “Bokuto-san; do you think you could handle taking care of Tetsu by yourself for a while? You’d have to get him up every day, cook breakfast, do laundry, make sure he gets to school on time, get his homework done…does that sound like something you’d want to do?”

Koutarou pretended he had to consider the matter; as if he ever needed to be asked to spend time with his son. He was doing his best to make-up for the seven years lost, and this would force them to become even closer than before. Of course, Bokuto wished Akaashi could spend time with them, too, but it would be nice to have some one-on-one time with Tetsu. Responsibility used to scare Koutarou—now days, he welcomed it.

“Of course, Keiji,” The hitman smiled warmly. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

Ugh. Sometimes Akaashi wished Bokuto wasn’t so perfect. Well, he couldn’t easily forget their original circumstances, the mistakes they both made to get them where they were today…but since the hitman had returned, he seemed more mature than ever. _I guess this week will determine that or not_ , Akaashi thought, nodding at his boyfriend. _Even though I trust him, this is starting to make me really nervous. They’re too much alike._

_Oh my god, they’re going to burn the house down._

“Okay, then. Tetsu, you’ll stay here with your dad while I’m gone. Does that sound like fun?”

“Yeah!” Tetsurou nodded so eagerly his neck cracked. “But…I’m gonna miss you, Mommy…”

“I know. I’ll miss you, too,” Keiji smiled softly, stroking his son’s messy hair. “But it’s only for a week. I’ll buy you lots of pretty things from Paris.”

“ _How_ pretty?”

“ _Really_ pretty.”

Tetsu grinned, nodding once more just to confirm his choice.

“Okay!” He cheered. “I’ll stay here with dad, then!”

“Good boy.”

~~~*~~~

Tetsurou picking to stay with Bokuto the whole week his mother was gone turned out to be easier proclaimed than done. The closer the trio got to Sunday afternoon, the more often Tetsu begged Akaashi to not go, to bring him with so they could see Paris together. He even had it in his head that Suguru planned this entire trip just to seduce Akaashi with wine and food; Bokuto was starting to not like this idea, either, but he was so looking forward to spending time with Tetsu. He asked Keiji why their son wasn’t so inclined on him leaving all the sudden:

“I get that he’ll miss you and all, I mean, who wouldn’t, but you used to go on tour before, right?” The fish fryer wondered. “Doesn’t he remember that?”

“I think he does. But he’s older, now, so he understands better than he did back then,” Akaashi said. “It’s been a while since I’ve left him—I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

To be fair, Tetsurou never cried or threw a tantrum to try and get Keiji to stay—but he did reason with him more often than not, saying he would miss him too much, that French cataphiles would kidnap he and Konoha and never let them leave the Paris Catacombs. Where he got that idea, Akaashi didn’t know, but he managed to remain strong and not let himself get sucked into Tetsu’s pleas. Honestly, he was looking forward to getting out of Japan for a week: as much as he loved Bokuto and their son’s antics, Akaashi really just needed some nights on the town with Konoha to unwind and relax. Suguru would be trying to intrude on their plans, but Konoha was bringing Saruki along as his date, so Keiji was hoping he could get in on whatever they were doing. As long as whatever they were doing wasn’t anything sexual.

“Mom, are you sure you _have_ to go?” Tetsurou asked his mother, still clinging to his waist even as the ballerina was putting his bags in the taxi. “Can’t you stay here with us?”

“I’m sorry, sweetie, but you know I have three performances in Paris. I have to give them a good show, right?”

“Well…can’t Suguru do a freak-show act or something? That’s a good show!”

Akaashi snickered under his breath, closing the trunk shut tightly before leaning down to talk to his son. Tetsu was staring at him anxiously, looking too cute in his knit beanie hat and puffy winter jacket, not to mention those pleading, catish eyes trying their best to suck Akaashi in. He almost let them, but Konoha’s voice broke through his weakness and demanded him to stay strong.

“Tetsu,” Keiji began slowly, smiling at him softly. “Do you trust Bokuto-san?”

“Yeah!” Tetsurou nodded eagerly. “He’s my dad!”

“Right. Aren’t you excited to spend some time with him?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“No buts. You and your dad are going to have a great time together, okay?”

Tetsurou lowered his head to sulk, hiding underneath his beanie with his cheeks all puffed-out in exasperation. Keiji couldn’t stop himself from pulling the boy close to him for a tight hug—he was just too irresistible. Bokuto was going to get a rude awakening this week when Tetsu begged for everything under the sun that he couldn’t have…

“You’re so cute,” Akaashi sighed. “I love you to death.”

“Well then stay here so you can come to my funeral!” Tetsurou yelled into his mother’s coat.

Akaashi laughed, separating them and walking over to the sidewalk, where Bokuto was hovering and pretending like he wasn’t eavesdropping. He smiled encouragingly at Tetsurou, who was still trying to hide against Keiji in hopes his cuteness would make the ballerina stay.

“Got everything packed?” Bokuto asked, putting an arm around his boyfriend. “Socks, leotards, underwear?”

“Yeah. I left this week’s breakfast menu on the fridge and bought some new milk yesterday,” Akaashi remembered, silently checking off his mental list. “The directions to Kenma’s house are in the GPS, Tetsu’s snow boots are in the entryway drying—you put some of your clothes in the closet, right?”

“Done and done.”

“Okay. Don’t forget about the playdate with Kiyoko on Thursday. And make sure Tetsurou has his vitamins at least three days this we—”

Keiji was shut up by warm lips pressing against his cold ones, soaking up all the tension from his body and leaving him feeling comforted and secure. He sighed when Bokuto pulled away, a crooked smile on his lips.

“I know. We’ve got this, ‘Kaashi; I promise I’ll take good care of him,” Koutarou swore.

“…I know you will,” The ballerina nodded. “Thank you.”

Akaashi checked his watch, realizing he had to leave now; Konoha was already waiting at the airport with Saruki and the ballet company. Tetsu didn’t want to look up, but he forced himself to so his mother could kiss him one last time before hurrying to the backseat of the taxi and shutting the door.

“Text me when you land!” Bokuto reminded him through the glass.

“I will. Bye baby,” Akaashi waved at his son. “I’ll see you in a week, okay?”

Tetsu nodded stiffly, waving as enthusiastically as he could manage.

“Love you, Keiji!”

“I love you both. Bye!”

The taxi sped off too quickly, Tetsurou finally realizing he couldn’t run after it, nor that his mother would turn around and come back to them. It wasn’t that he was nervous to stay with Bokuto all week—that part would be super fun, but he was just going to miss his mother. They got along so well together, and it was difficult for Tetsu to be apart from Akaashi even though he was older and more independent, now. The boy ducked his head back down once the car was out of sight, letting Bokuto steer him back towards the front of the house cheerfully.

“Looks like it’s just me and you, kid! Are you hungry yet? Do you want some hot coco, maybe?”

“No…”

“Okay—how about we watch some of those cooking shows you like so much?” Bokuto suggested, helping his son take off his winter clothes. “You like to make fun of that guy’s funky hair, right? Doesn’t that sound like a good time?”

“Maybe,” Tetsu shrugged.

“Okay…do you want to do some math homework?” The fish fryer tried weakly. “That always…gets you pumped up and stuff.”

“Sure…”

“Great! Let’s go!”

Koutarou led him to the kitchen, where Tetsurou slumped into his chair at the island and absentmindedly finished his math homework, doodling on the corners of his notebook and daydreaming about his mom. Bokuto wasn’t about to let him mope for the entire week, quickly looking through the fridge to see what they could cook that would be fun—Akaashi had specific meals planned for breakfast (to ensure Tetsu started the day off right with a healthy, balanced meal), but since the rest was up to Bokuto, he figured they could make a little mess. As long as it made Tetsu happy.

“Pizza sauce, pepperoni, mozzarella cheese…” Koutarou’s excited gasp made Tetsu look up from his paper. “We can make shape pizzas!”

“…What’s a shape pizza?” The seven-year-old wondered, just like Bokuto knew he would.

“It’s when you make your own pizza, and you shape the dough into anything you want! A dog, a monster, a ghost, anything! Komi and I used to make them sometimes.”

Bokuto could see a small spark igniting in Tetsurou’s golden eyes as he shut his math book and leaned over to investigate the ingredients his father had laid out. He did like pizza. And funny shapes. And pepperoni was his _favorite_ topping. The boy figured it could be a little fun…

“Can I make mine into the shape of an octopus?” Tetsu asked.

_Jeez, this kid’s really going to test my dough shaping skills._

“Duh!” Bokuto agreed anyway. “So are you in?”

Tetsu contemplated for only a moment, forgetting all about his mother leaving as he imagined a huge pizza shaped like an octopus with pepperoni eyes and suckers. Maybe if they had ingredients left, he and his dad could have a food fight after—Akaashi would never have to know, as long as they ate all the pizza and cleaned the island to get rid of evidence.

“I’m in!” Tetsu grinned. “Let’s make pizza!”

Bokuto and his son set out to work, readying their toppings and planning the shapes of their pizzas as the dough took its time rising; Tetsurou began to cut loose the further into the process they got, proud of their matching aprons that said _Kiss the Chef_ , although Bokuto’s was funnier because it was too small for his body. They softened their dough by punching and throwing it into the air until it was ready for shaping, at which point they began the elaborate task of stretching eight octopus tentacles out, one by one.

“This one’s totally uneven, Dad!” Tetsurou cackled, pointing at an unusually short tentacle.

“Well excuse me if I’m not a Greek sculptor!”

“I’ll show you how to do it, okay?”

“Okay,” Bokuto laughed, stepping back to watch the magic happen. “You show me how you did the first few.”

Tetsurou dove into his detailed instructions, pretending like he was on a cooking show—he would stop every few seconds and hold the dough up for the camera to see, then checking to make sure Bokuto was paying attention. He used all the strength in his small hands to pound the dough into a long strip, poking and prodding his fingers until it was starting to look like a tentacle. Bokuto wondered if his son could feel the difference in his own hand: the rough, calloused texture, the terrifying strength hiding beneath…could children understand that much? Were they better at judging people because of their lack of bias? Did Tetsurou know his father had committed sinister acts in his past?

Bokuto asked himself this as he silently compared his hands to Tetsu’s, praying to the gods it wasn’t true. He hoped the boy could feel nothing but love when his father helped him shape the pizza dough, and that he didn’t think himself in danger whenever Koutarou lifted him up or patted his head.

 _Is that why he didn’t want Keiji to go to Paris?_ The hitman thought suddenly.

“Did you pay attention to my method?” Tetsurou questioned. His eyes were clear, awaiting an answer as he showed off his final octopus dough shape.

_Is he nervous about Akaashi leaving because I scare him?_

“Totally,” Bokuto nodded. “Ready to put the sauce on?”

“Yeah! What’s your shape again, Daddy?”

“It’s an owl, see?”

Tetsurou glanced over at his father’s creation, unable to hide a sour facial expression as he looked at what was supposed to be an owl. It looked more like a deformed eagle to him.

“Uhh…sure,” The boy replied. “Cool.”

“Hey, not everyone can be a master chef, _sir Tetsu_.”

“It’s not a skill peasants can learn, I guess.”

“Oh, you’re gonna get it now, buddy!” Bokuto teased, wiggling his fingers into Tetsu’s side and getting him to let out a loud shriek. He was so similar to Akaashi when he was tickled, squirming, cringing and getting teary eyes even though they had just begun.

“Wait, wait!” Tetsurou screeched, hopelessly trying to stop the large hands assaulting his sides. “The—The _sauce_!”

“Right, right—we’ve still gotta put our toppings on!” The fish fryer relented, steadying the boy on his chair. “What’s the hold up, dude?”

“You kept tickling me, _maniac_!”

“You’re blaming me for your childish attention span? And here I thought you were a professional cook…”

Tetsurou held their process up by laughing for another minute, but Bokuto didn’t mind—he liked the view he had of Tetsu’s toothy smile, his crinkled eyes and loud, cackling giggle that proved just how happy he was. Koutarou still thought, however, that there was a chance his more permanent presence in the Akaashi household was intimidating to the young boy. Bokuto let his son take the reins on the situation for now, stepping back and waiting to see what he would do next.

“Okay,” Tetsu giggled, snorting over his laugh. “Okay. Pizza sauce me.”

“Yes, sir!”

The father and son decorated their dough in sauce, cheese and strategically placed pepperoni that really made their shapes come to life. Tetsurou was nearly as impatient as Bokuto for the pizzas to get done cooking, and they sat on the floor in front of the oven willing them to cook faster. Once they were finished, Bokuto cut off a piece of the octopus’ tentacles for Tetsu and a wing from his owl, and the pair sat down at the island to try them.

“How is it?” Koutarou asked, watching as Tetsurou took the first bite. “Good?”

“Mmmm!” The dark-haired boy nodded, cheeks puffed full of pizza. “Ummy!”

“Super yummy?”

“Mhm!”

“Dang, you’re right!” Bokuto groaned in pleasure as he took a bite of his owl. “What’s that thing they always say on the cooking channel when they eat something yummy?”

“Delicioso!” Tetsu cheered.

“Right—del-ih-shee-oh-so!”

Tetsurou giggled happily, and the kitchen became quiet as they munched on their pizza together, sipping chocolate milk between bites; this was the kind of domestic bliss Bokuto didn’t think he would ever get sick of. Simple moments that were usually taken for granted by other parents who were lucky enough to spend every day with their children. Seeing Tetsu sitting beside him so innocently, pizza sauce on his lips, without a care in the world…it was nice. It felt like a break from reality, the drama and stress of everything Bokuto was worried about. His earlier doubts were starting to dissipate the longer he sat next to Tetsurou at the island, eating strangely shaped pizza and drinking chocolate milk.

As Koutarou stole glances at his son, he could tell the boy was deep in thought as well, and finally, after five-minutes of contemplation, Tetsu gave his verdict.

“This was a good idea,” He declared. “Pizza is so much fun! We should take a picture and send it to Mommy.”

“We _definitely_ should,” Bokuto agreed, slipping out his phone to take a picture of his son holding up one of his octopus’s tentacles. “Smile!”

 **Bokuto-san** **💕** : _{ image attachment } (6:36 p.m.)_

 **Bokuto-san** **💕** : _miss u already!!! (6:37 p.m.)_

Akaashi quickly texted back to show his approval.

😍 **KEIJI!!!** **😈** : _Cute. miss u too (6:39 p.m.)_

 **Bokuto-san** **💕** : _can i get a nudey paris pic in return?? (6:40 p.m.)_

😍 **KEIJI!!!** **😈** : _Don’t count on it. (6:41 p.m.)_

“Sometimes your mom is no fun, Tetsu!” Bokuto whined. “Speaking of no fun, we better do the dishes and get you ready for bed.”

“Are you _really_ going to make me go to bed the same time Mommy does?”

“Well, _yeah_! I don’t want him to spank me when he gets home!”

“Fine,” Tetsurou sighed heavily. “But only if I can have some grape juice before I sleep!”

“You’re quite the little negotiator, aren’t you?” The hitman mumbled, getting a smirk in return. “Alright—grape juice it is.”

“Sweet nuggets!”

Getting Tetsurou to bed was the easy part. Getting him up for school? Now that was an entirely different story.

Bokuto had set his alarm for 5:30 a.m., just so he would have enough time to fix a different breakfast if anything went wrong. Luckily, he was a more efficient cook than Akaashi was (though Keiji had practiced making breakfast over the years and wasn’t _so_ bad at it anymore); he prepared some juice, natto, tsukemono, rice, shokupan with orange jam and a cup of coffee for himself, ready on the island table by six. He snuck into Tetsurou’s room, where his son was looking so adorable and precious with his face squished between the sides of his pillow—Bokuto wasted five-minutes just taking pictures of him before slowly laying down beside him and gently running his hands through the boy’s messy hair.

“Tetsuuuu,” Koutarou cooed, nudging his shoulder underneath the covers. “Time to get up for school!”

“Mmm…”

“I made breakfast! And I poured you some grape juice—your favorite!”

Tetsu made an unintelligent noise, pushing his head further into the pillow and making no attempts to get up. Bokuto even poked his sides a few times, hoping that would kick him into gear, but Tetsurou was stubbornly un-ticklish in the morning. The hitman was beginning to regret checking out Akaashi’s ass instead of listening to his instructions for this week…

“Okay. I’m going to go get dressed, and when I come back, we’ll go have breakfast together, alright?”

Tetsurou mumbled something else into his pillow, pulling the covers back over his head after Bokuto left the room. _I know Keiji mentioned being gentle but firm when waking him up_ , Koutarou desperately recalled, throwing his clothes on in a hurry. _He still needs to get dressed and brush his teeth…hopefully he doesn’t want seconds…well, I could stuff it in his bento for later. I made the bento, didn’t I?_

Bokuto caught sight of his reflection in the mirror right as he was about to exit the bedroom, noticing he hadn’t shaved in a few days—the fish fryer figured he had time and quickly went to the bathroom to shave. That little maneuver didn’t end so well, and by the time Bokuto had stopped himself from bleeding out, it was 6:15. Hopefully Tetsurou was downstairs eating breakfast by now.

“Gah!” Koutarou yelped in horror when he walked back into Tetsu’s room. “You’re still not up?! But we need to have breakfast!”

Tetsu was tiredly rubbing at his eyes on the side of his bed, where he was snatched up by his father and hurried into the bathroom.

“Okay, okay! You brush your teeth, and I’ll pick out your clothes, okay?”

“Mm…okay…”

“Good!”

Bokuto waited and waited for Tetsu to exit the bathroom, constantly checking his watch and trying to mentally calculate how fast he could drive without getting pulled over. When Tetsurou finally came out, he made a displeased face at the clothes sitting on the bed and scowled at his father.

“What is it?” Koutarou wondered. “Do you feel okay?”

“Not really,” Tetsurou murmured, pointing at the outfit. “This doesn’t match.”

“What do you mean? Of course it does! The sweater is black and the pants are grey!”

“This is _steel_ grey,” The fashionista tried to explain, holding up the pants. “Steel grey doesn’t match obsidian black; you can’t have two sharp contrasts together. There should be one soft and one hard.”

_What the hell is he talking about?!_

“Okay, just—go pick something else out,” Bokuto nudged him towards the large closet. “I’ll go heat your breakfast back up!”

“This is a delicate procedure, Dad—I need another ten-minutes.”

“Yeah, well, unless you want Daddy to get a speeding ticket, get it done in less than that!”

Bokuto was certain he had never felt this kind of pressure before. He nearly had a disaster in the kitchen after almost dropping Tetsu’s plate, burning his hand on the hot surface and just about spilling grape juice everywhere—at least Tetsurou had decided on an outfit, plopping into his chair and blowing on the steamy rice to cool it down. While he ate, he watched his father sprint around the house trying to make sure they had everything in order. It was now 6:31.

“Don’t forget it’s our week to carpool,” Tetsurou reminded Bokuto as he chugged his cold coffee. “Kenma doesn’t like walking to school.”

“Right, right, Kenma! I remember.”

“And it’s really cold out, so I need my scarf and mittens.”

“Right. And a hat to cover up this messy hair, right?” Koutarou teased, ruffling his son’s black hair around.

“Yeah, yeah…you’re not going to make me comb it like Mom does, are you?”

“Nah. I think it looks chic!”

Tetsurou grinned at that, drinking the last of his juice and finally making his way towards the door; Bokuto helped him get his coat and hat on, stuffing a scarf and a pair of mittens into the boy’s backpack for later. The bento was secure, he had a water bottle, his snow boots and his math homework.

_I might just pull this off yet!_

“Great!” Bokuto cheered himself on, throwing the door open and barely feeling the cold burst of air against his face. “Let’s go get Kenma!”

“Wait!”

“What? Did we forget something!?”

“Oh—never-mind,” Tetsu shook his head. “I thought we were forgetting mommy, but he’s in Paris.”

Koutarou let out a quick sigh, locking the door behind them and hurriedly buckling his son in before barreling down the street to go pick Kenma up. The drive there was quick, very little traffic, and Kenma was already waiting outside in his bundled-up outfit; Tetsurou let him inside, greeting the boy much too excitedly for so early in the morning.

“Good morning, Ken-chan!”

“Hi.”

“Hey hey, Kenma!” An even louder voice said from the driver’s seat. Kenma could barely move his head because of his fluffy hood, but he recognized the spikey grey hair belonging to Tetsu’s father. “How’s it hanging?”

“…”

“Right. Well, let’s get to the school before traffic gets bad!”

Bokuto must have jinxed himself, because as soon as he merged into main street, _hundreds_ of other cars were lined-up on the road. This would definitely be the last time Akaashi let him babysit their son alone if he made Tetsu late for school. Maybe he was better off being a trophy husband than an qualified father.

“Too late!” Tetsurou snickered from the backseat. “We better go fast and furious if we’re going to make it before the first bell!”

“I’ll show _you_ fast and furious…”

Kenma barely had time to grab on before their car sped forward, merging into traffic and weaving between other cars like a game of Tetris. Bokuto still had his driving skills from when he and Komi worked for a garage in their younger days (although back then “garage work” included stealing cars…), and those same skills were what brought them closer and closer to school. They had exactly twelve minutes to get there before seven on a route that usually took a solid fifteen-minutes, if not longer. The Lexus was swerving and skipping lanes, which terrified Kenma but excited Tetsu, who cheered his father on whenever he cut someone off. Once Bokuto managed to pass a moving truck, the school was in sight, Terushima and a few other classmates just entering the front doors.

Tetsurou gave a loud war cry as they screeched to a stop in front of the schoolyard.

“Five minutes to spare,” Bokuto exhaled in relief. Kenma wasn’t sure if it was safe to move yet. “Alright, kids, the bus stops here!”

“That was _awesome_ , huh, Ken-chan?!” Tetsu nudged his friend with a grin.

“Y-Yeah…”

“Come on, let’s go!”

Koutarou had to steady Kenma when he stepped out of the car, walking them up to the building when he was suddenly struck with a strange feeling—it wasn’t nostalgia, but it seemed familiar as the hitman looked down at his son standing on the snowy steps, peering up at him with a smile. He wondered what Tetsu’s very first day at school was like: did he cry and not want to go? Did _Akaashi_ cry? He probably did. He didn’t want Tetsurou to go just like how the child didn’t want his mother to go to Paris for a week. It had probably been difficult, seeing him run off to school when they were all each other had…

“Hey, Bok—I mean, Dad! This is the first time you’re dropping me off for school!” Tetsurou noted excitedly.

“It sure is,” Koutarou smiled a bit. “Do you have everything? Backpack, bento?”

“Yup!”

“Good. If you realize you forgot something later, you can call me and I’ll come bring it, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good. Good…”

Tetsurou watched his dad carefully, but not as carefully as his father was watching him, leaning down and putting a hand on the boy’s soft face. Gold stared up at a brighter bronze, darker shade of eyes, silently wondering what Bokuto was thinking about—Koutarou hoped he didn’t look as pained as he felt. It was just that…Tetsurou was already in the first grade. He was already at the top of his class, practically a middle schooler already. Bokuto hoped he hadn’t missed the best years. He really hoped those doubts haunting his mind were wrong, that Tetsu wasn’t afraid of him, that he wanted to keep having his new dad in their life. The hitman had only discovered his ability to hope when he went to prison, and felt how deadly and heavy its power really was.

Still, he hoped he would be able to see the _next_ first day of school, and all the ones after.

“Well…have a great day, alright, Tetsu?” Bokuto smiled warmly. His voice was lower than usual, and Tetsurou wasn’t sure why. “Be a good boy, and do well on your history quiz.”

“Of course!” Tetsu huffed. “You’re coming to pick me up after school, right?”

“I’ll be waiting right here for you.”

Tetsu nodded, then suddenly threw himself forward to hug Bokuto’s neck.

“Bye Daddy!” He quirked, turning and running towards the school. “See you later!”

“Yeah…see you.”

Bokuto sighed deeply, dropping his head as he heard the final bell go off; there was a group of giggling housewives to his right, but he barely knew they were there. All day, the fish fryer’s head was filled with daydreams about the future.

Wasting away in prison for seven years, Bokuto had developed some lengthy scenes in his head about him and Akaashi. Including Tetsurou in those scenes made them even better. As he fried fish in the early afternoon, Koutarou thought about going home after a long day of working in the garage—he would pull up to their large house, happy to see that the porch light was still on for him. Tetsu would run to greet him the second he opened the door, telling him all about his exciting day at school and showing off his flawless report card. Once they were in the kitchen, Akaashi would finally come downstairs and smile at Bokuto, tired but happy to see him. Bokuto would sneak away from Tetsurou to kiss his husband sweetly, until he was swatted away for being too frisky.

Maybe Bokuto would cook tonight, getting some help from their son as Keiji stood to the side drinking wine, admiring the view; they would all pitch in to do dishes together, then he would read Tetsurou a bedtime story and tuck him in for the night…yeah. That was a routine Bokuto could get used to. For now, he was perfectly content with a different scenario, picking Tetsu up from school and congratulating him for getting a 100% on his history quiz.

In just three days, Bokuto could admit to himself that he was definitely a sucker for domestic bliss. Getting his son up for school, dropping him off, picking him up, eating snacks together over homework and assignments…it was nice. They hadn’t had any more problems after almost being late for school, thank goodness, and Tetsurou was starting to get used to their routine as well. Akaashi had been texting them daily just to check in, having a great time with Konoha in Paris, though he missed his son and boyfriend just as much as they missed him.

On Wednesday evening, Tetsu and his father were doing homework in the kitchen, drinking “wine” and rabbit-shaped apple slices Bokuto made. It took four hours of precision knife work, but it was all worth it to see Tetsurou’s amazed expression. Since Koutarou was no help with math, he did his best to guide Tetsu through his language assignment—as if the boy needed any help. He was a mad genius.

“Did you know that Chinese is the hardest language to learn? Japanese is a _breeze_ compared to Mandarin,” The seven-year-old explained, neatly practicing his letters. “I’m pretty good at writing kanji and hiragana, though.”

“You are. You’re even better than me!”

“Well, that’s probably because I go to a better school.”

“Pft. You got that right,” Bokuto snickered, trying to recall the low-class middle school he attended. “Who knows what I could’ve been if I had a great mom who cared about my education like yours does.”

“Hey, Dad! What do _you_ want to be when you grow up?” Tetsu wondered.

 _When I grow up?_ The ex-hitman repeated. _That’s a good point…Akaashi would probably agree that I’m only now getting mature…would it be wrong to tell him the daydreams I’ve been having?_

“Hmm…well, when I was your age, I really wanted to be a stunt-double. You know, those people who stand in for actors and perform stunts?”

“Ooo—that’s cool. What do you want to do now?” The boy pressed. “Do you want to fry fish until you’re old?”

“I do enjoy frying fish,” Bokuto nodded. “You _really_ wanna know what I want to be when I grow-up?”

“Yes!”

“Alright. My biggest dream is to be your dad.”

Tetsu’s eyebrows rose in confusion as he stopped writing to ponder over what was said.

“…But you already _are_ my dad, Bokuto-san.”

“True. But I mean a _real_ dad. Someone who’s always here when you come home from school, who always has snacks and games ready for us to play—someone who’s ready to drop everything to spend some time with you,” Koutarou dove into the details of his fantasy, smiling at the pictures in his head. “I think it would be nice to be a stay-at-home dad. I could clean up after you, cook for you, help you with your homework every day after school…that’s what I want to be when I grow-up.”

Bokuto looked over at Tetsu, who was thoughtfully staring at him and contemplating this dream. He seemed to be imagining it himself, only breaking out of his stupor to nod in understanding.

“That’s nice…”

“Yeah. But what about you, dude?” Bokuto redirected eagerly. “What does the _fabulous_ Tetsurou Akaashi want to be when he grows up?”

“A _lot_ of things,” Tetsu stressed, pushing his homework out of the way so he could gesture with his hands. “I’m going to be the most fashionable physicist there ever was!”

“A physicist, huh? That’s pretty scholarly.”

“Totally! On the weekends I’m going to run my own clothing line—I call it _Tetsu’s Trends_ —that specializing in creating business clothes. I’m going to wear those clothes during the week, when I work at a university and prove that aliens really _do_ exist.”

“Aliens?” Now that got his father excited. “For real?!”

“Yeah!” Tetsurou nodded violently. “I’m also going to get a history major, so that way I can prove the Great Pyramids were designed by ancient aliens, and once I figure out how to contact them, I’m going to sell them my clothes so I can be their main—”

In Tetsu’s excitement, his hands were flying all over the place and accidentally smacked into his glass of grape juice, knocking it over and sending a flood of sticky purple liquid across the island. Bokuto reacted quickly, grabbing the cup and pulling it upright, but most of the grape juice had already spilled out—he immediately looked down at his son, expecting him to burst into tears (like his father would…) and instinctively start apologizing for nothing; that was what most kids did when they accidentally spilled something, but Tetsurou’s expression had barely changed. In fact, he looked calmer than Bokuto did, blinking at the mess before breaking into a silly smile.

“Oops!” Tetsurou giggled, snatching a bundle of napkins. “My wine! Dad, can you help me clean it up, please?”

“Y-Yeah, of course!” Bokuto hurriedly grabbed some paper towels and a wet rag, soaking up the sticky grape juice spill. “But you’re not…upset?”

“Huh?” Tetsu gave him a funny look as he moved his homework out of the way so it didn’t get stained. “About what?”

“Well, all your juice spilled…”

Tetsurou burst into laughter again, poking his father’s cheek in amusement.

“It’s just _wine_ , Dad!” He said simply. “We can just buy some more!”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” The fish fryer chuckled, laying more paper towels over the mess. “You’re just a lot more… _balanced_ than normal kids.”

“I get that a lot,” Tetsu shrugged. “But Mommy says I’m a menace.”

Bokuto and his son shared a laugh about that and helped clean up the island, scrubbing it with soap to make sure no sticky spots remained. Tetsu’s homework only had a couple small splatters on the pages, but Tetsurou was confident he wouldn’t get in trouble because he was the teacher’s favorite. They were just about done cleaning when Bokuto’s phone began going off at the other end of the table.

“Mom’s calling!” Tetsurou gasped, pointing wildly at the cell phone. “Pick it up, pick it up!”

“Okay, okay!” Koutarou said, dropping the dirty rag and snatching his phone; he accepted the face-call and handed the object to Tetsu. “Here—now he can see us.”

“Hi Mommy!” The boy greeted, waving cutely at the screen. Akaashi was slumped in a couch looking exhausted, but happy.

_“Hi sweetheart, how are you?”_

“I’m super great! Me and daddy did my homework, and later we’re going to eat Thai food together!”

“Hey hey, ‘Kaashi!” Bokuto waved, trying to sneak into the screen. “How’s Paris?”

 _“Just as beautiful as the first time,”_ Akaashi sighed wistfully. _“First show down, two more to go. How are things going there?”_

“Couldn’t be better! _Right_ , Tetsu?”

“Right!”

_“…Hmm…I don’t know if I believe you.”_

“It’s true, Mom!” Tetsurou giggled. “Hey, did you and Uncle Konoha see the Eiffel Tower yet?”

 _“Well, I can actually see it from my motel room; do you want to see?”_ Keiji offered.

“YES!”

Akaashi showed his son the morning balcony view and the luxurious suite he and the other ballerinas were staying in, telling him all the details of their plane ride and how Konoha and Saruki had snuck off somewhere. They visited several boutiques so far, and Keiji promised his son he would bring him back something cool. Their first ballet show had been a success, as always, and Suguru was off flirting with French students outside the hotel. Tetsurou talked his ear off about school for a few minutes before Akaashi asked to talk to Bokuto.

_“Can you hand the phone to your father, baby? I’d like to see him.”_

“Okay! But I get another turn before you say goodbye!”

_“Of course.”_

“Hey hey, Keiji!” Koutarou greeted with a handsome smile, making sure to keep the island mess out of sight. “You’re looking fancy and French-like.”

 _“Thanks…how are things going, really?”_ The ballerina asked seriously. _“Is Tetsu giving you a hard time?”_

“This little angel?” Bokuto ruffled Tetsu’s hair playfully. “Never!”

_“Sure…”_

“But seriously, ‘Kaashi, we’re having _so_ much fun. Being a single parent is hard, but I’m getting the hang of it!”

 _“I’m glad. It’s nice to see you two spending time together,”_ Akaashi said. _“Is he taking his vitamins in the morning?”_

“Yup!”

_“And eating all his breakfast?”_

“Mhm.”

_“Have you been eating all your breakfast?”_

“Yeah—well…I’ve been chugging down coffee, if that’s what you mean,” Bokuto laughed sheepishly. “It’s just hard to fit that into a morning schedule! Why didn’t you tell me getting kids to school on time is so stressful?!”

Akaashi smiled a little, looking more beautiful than ever with the Paris sunshine reflecting off his face. Bokuto wanted to tug him through the screen and give him a romantic kiss—that would have to wait until the ballerina got home, _after_ Tetsurou was sound asleep in his room…

_“I’m sure you’re doing a great job. It’ll be nice to get some practice in before…”_

“Before what?” Koutarou cocked his head to the side.

Akaashi looked like he was going to say something, but stopped short and settled for a quick wink at his boyfriend.

_“Alright—I need to get some rest.”_

“Right, right…Tetsu, say bye to mommy!”

“Bye Mommy!” Tetsurou waved, following up by blowing a kiss at his mother. “Come back soon!”

_“Bye, honey. I love you.”_

“See ya, ‘Kaashi!”

 _Wonder what that was about_ , the hitman thought, ending the call. _Maybe…he wants me to move in? Could that be it? But…that might be too fast…plus, I don’t think I could do that when I’m not sure who has been watching us. Then again, they’d be safer if I was always here, but still—I would never want to make them targets._

_Cut it out, Bokuto. You’re totally overthinking this._

“Daddy, can I go watch my show, now?” Tetsu asked, tugging on Koutarou’s arm.

“Finished your assignment?”

“Mhm!”

“Alright, go ahead,” Bokuto patted his head. Maybe he was a sucker, too, just like Akaashi. “I’ll finish cleaning here, and then we’ll go pick up supper. How does that sound?”

“Sweet!”

Just as Tetsurou ran out of the room, Bokuto’s phone buzzed again, and he slid it out to see a text from Akaashi.

😍 **KEIJI!!!** **😈** : _call me later (3:39 p.m.)_

Did Bokuto have any idea why Akaashi wanted him to call later? No. But the hidden innuendos fueled him to get Tetsu to bed as soon as possible. After supper they got in their pajamas and watched _America’s Next Top Model_ for an hour or so, and the hitman couldn’t stop checking his watch, wondering if Akaashi was eating breakfast himself, or if he was taking a quick nap before they had rehearsals. Thankfully, Tetsurou was wiped out from his day and fell asleep on the couch; Bokuto carried him to his room and made sure he was awake enough where he didn’t choke on the toothpaste, guiding him towards the small bed and tucking him in snugly. Unfortunately, Tetsurou was awake enough now where he kept asking questions as Bokuto was trying to sneak out of the room.

“…Didja fill my cup?” The boy asked in a daze, peeking over at the cup of water on his nightstand.

“Yup! Full and ready to go.”

“Can I have some fuzzy socks? My toes are cold…”

Bokuto looked through three drawers to find a pair of red fuzzy socks with cats on them, sliding his hand under the covers and blindly slipping them onto Tetsu’s tiny feet.

“Okay, we got our socks, water and blankets. Is that everything?” Koutarou clarified. He wanted to call Akaashi _so badly_ …

“Mhm,” Tetsu nodded, eyelids falling closed.

“Great! Goodnight, then!”

“Goodnight…”

Bokuto was so close. His hand was on the door, opening it so he could slip out, one foot halfway out when Tetsurou’s tiny voice called out to him once more.

“Daddy?”

The hitman let out a quiet sigh and turned around.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“I’m really happy you’re here with me,” Tetsurou murmured happily, golden cat eyes shining through the darkness.

Bokuto was such a sucker for those eyes, just like he was for Akaashi’s. The fish fryer stepped across the bedroom and kissed Tetsu softly on his head, making sure he was bundled tightly underneath his blankets so he wouldn’t be cold. The windows and doors were locked, the security system was armed, and everything was okay.

“Me, too, Tetsu,” Koutarou smiled. “Now get some rest.”

“Okay,” The boy exhaled tiredly. “Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

 _Being a single parent is so emotionally exhausting_ , Bokuto realized, finally stepping into his own bedroom and plopping down in bed tiredly. _I don’t know if I have enough energy for whatever Akaashi has planned…_

Despite what Bokuto thought, he still called Akaashi anyway, other line only ringing a few times before Keiji picked up.

 _“Good morning—or goodnight, I should say,”_ Akaashi greeted.

“Good _everything_. Have I ever told you how much I love that damn kid? He’s just so funny and evil and—ugh! I can’t handle anymore cuteness, Keiji!” Koutarou huffed in frustration.

_“He is pretty great. Is he asleep?”_

“Yeah. Which means we can have all the fun we want~”

There was a moment of hesitation on the other end.

 _“Um…what kind of fun?”_ Keiji questioned in concern.

“Well, you—weren’t we—I thought you, maybe…”

_“You thought I wanted to have phone sex.”_

“No, not at all! Well, yes, maybe a little, but—you really didn’t mean that when you said you wanted me to call you later?” Bokuto whined in embarrassment.

 _“No,”_ The ballerina sighed. (Secretly, he was flattered by the assumption.) _“I wanted to talk to you about possibly moving in with us.”_

Wow. Koutarou couldn’t believe his instincts were right. Akaashi was thinking about them moving in together after all. He was still so taken-aback he couldn’t think for a moment, mouth hovering open but unable to speak.

_“…Bokuto-san? Are you still there?”_

“Yeah, yeah! I just…I’m so excited to hear you say that!” Bokuto cheered, trying to keep his excited voice down.

 _“It wouldn’t be anytime soon, I don’t think…maybe in the spring or summer, once Tetsurou’s gotten used to having you around,”_ Akaashi reasoned, as if he had told himself this a million times. _“I don’t want to do anything that will disrupt the rhythm we have going, but I just wanted to let you know what I’m thinking.”_

“Thanks, Keiji. I appreciate you keeping me in the loop.”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“…Sounds like you’re having some second thoughts on this,” The hitman furrowed his brow. “What’s wrong?”

The ballerina was quiet for a second, sighing away from the phone as he fidgeted in the background.

 _“I really want you to move in with Tetsu and I,”_ Akaashi admitted honestly. _“It’s just that…if something were to—happen again, you know, it just—well, we wouldn’t be the only ones hurt by it this time. Do you understand what I mean?”_

“Of course. I’ve been thinking about that a lot, too.” Almost every day, actually, since Keiji left for Paris. “Believe me, Akaashi, the _last_ thing I want is for Tetsurou to get his feelings hurt. I’ll do everything in my power to stop that from happening.”

Another long moment of silence stretched on, Akaashi completely motionless on the other line.

 _“…I know you will.”_ He finally replied. _“And I’m so glad I can trust you to take care of Tetsu like that. Really, I am—you have no idea how happy I am to share him with you. It’s comforting, knowing he’s with someone I trust and love. I know I don’t say it enough, but I really appreciate you being in his life, Bokuto-san.”_

The hitman could feel his chest aching with love, overwhelming his senses and causing him to lose it.

“You—You guys are too much!”

_“Huh?”_

“Stop being so nice and appreciative, it’s driving me _crazy_!” Bokuto cried, burying his face into the nearest pillow. “Stop stop _stop_!”

 _“Okay. I’ll try to be more impatient and selfish from now on,”_ Akaashi huffed.

“Thank you! That’s all I want!”

Keiji laughed lightly, getting his boyfriend to crack a silly smile as well; he never wanted Akaashi close to him more than right now, on a boring weekday after a boring day at work, so they could cuddle and lay together in preparation for tomorrow…Bokuto’s daydreams were starting to feel so realistic. Hopefully, when Akaashi got back, they could talk more about moving in together.

 _“Well, I’ll let you get some rest. Tetsu gets up even earlier on Thursday mornings, so you’re going to need all the sleep you can get,”_ Akaashi teased.

“Great…haha…”

_“Goodnight, Bokuto-san.”_

“Goodnight, Akaashee! Love you!”

_“I love you, too. Oh—and I think there’s something under your pillow that you might find interesting…”_

The ballerina hung up before Koutarou could ask what that meant. He leaned on his elbows and pulled his pillow up, shocked when he discovered a pair of Keiji’s black panties hiding underneath it. They were made from silk with a little bow on the waistline and a frilly lace accent—Bokuto had never seen Akaashi in them before, but he could definitely tell they had been recently worn.

“Akaashi Keiji, you sly, beautiful bastard…”

~~~*~~~

Bokuto and Tetsurou had a wonderful week together, and once Wednesday was over, the remainder of that time flew by, and on Sunday afternoon, they were driving to the airport to pick Akaashi up. The sun was brighter than usual, melting most of the snow Tetsu and his father had played in during the weekend, but the seven-year-old couldn’t be depressed about that because he was too excited to pick his mother up and tell him about all the fun things they did.

“I can’t wait to tell mom about our snowman!” Tetsu rambled on and on in the backseat. “I bet it melted, now, but we took pictures, right?!”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got all the pictures saved,” Bokuto assured him with a smile. In fact, he had at least sixty pictures on his phone of their week together, many of which he sent Akaashi. “We’ll print a few out and hang them on the fridge; how does that sound?”

“Perfect!”

It was going to be so depressing, going back to his lonely apartment after this week…but at least Keiji was considering letting him move back in. Koutarou was happy to have even a tiny bit of time with Tetsu, so he figured he could wait a little while longer. And even if Akaashi was never comfortable being that intimate with him again, Bokuto could survive—that didn’t mean he _wanted_ to, though. In fact, he wanted to move in with his family immediately, because if he couldn’t figure out who was stalking them…well, the whole waiting game was starting to make him anxious. The mysterious person who was supposedly going to ask him to do a hit had yet to contact Bokuto. The longer this charade continued, the more Koutarou just wanted to stake out in Akaashi’s yard to protect them.

“I’m surprised mommy let you drive his car,” Tetsurou commented. “He likes it a lot, and he doesn’t even let Konoha drive it.”

“Well, I am a pretty good driver. Akaashi probably knows th—”

When the hitman peered into the mirror to glance at Tetsu, his eyes locked on to something else; just barely in the corner of his mirror was a sleek, black car. It wouldn’t have been such a big deal if the windows hadn’t been blacked out and if the driver wasn’t trying a little too hard to stay out of sight behind three other vehicles. It wasn’t your average black car—Bokuto recognized the model, the style of its expensive exterior: that was a yakuza car.

“Woah!” Tetsurou exclaimed when the Lexus suddenly merged into the next lane over. “At least give a guy some warning!”

Bokuto didn’t hear him. All the blood had rushed to his head, adrenaline surging higher and higher as his hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, ready for action; still watching his mirrors, the hitman saw the black car merge into their same lane. When Koutarou sped up, the black car passed someone else, keeping itself within thirty-feet of the Lexus. _This is not good_ , Bokuto worried, body tense and eyes constantly flickering behind him. _This can’t be happening while Tetsurou is in the car…who would be following us? It has to be Akaashi’s ex, right? It can’t be someone from Fukurodani—they excommunicated me from the clan. Why would anyone of them be stalking Akaashi?_

“Tetsu. Hold on.”

The Lexus sped forward, but Tetsu could tell this wasn’t the same as when his father drove Kenma and him to school; this felt like they were driving _away_ from someone, rather than towards something. Tetsurou grabbed onto the car door for stability, feeling the car jerk left and right, only succeeding in getting a few car lengths forward. He could tell if another car was following them or not, but judging on Bokuto’s stern expression constantly checking the mirrors, that’s what was happening.

 _What do I do here? I can’t involve Tetsu in a fucking car chase!_ The fish fryer thought angrily, scanning the area in front of him. That black car was still hot on his tail, now only one car between them and a red stop light ahead; if they were planning on doing something to harm Bokuto, there was no better time to do it than thirty-seconds from now, when they were both stopped. The airport was only a few miles down the highway, past the autobody shop and the cop sitting at the corner—

_Here goes my perfect record._

Tetsurou was lurched back in his seat as Bokuto tore right into the turn lane, getting the car to accelerate as fast as it could in a few seconds. Everyone stopped at the red light (including the cop) saw him speed past them well over the limit, sneaking through and emerging back into the straight lane ahead. The black car slammed to a stop when the cop’s lights and sirens came on, directing their attention at Bokuto, who let out a quick huff of relief. His eyes didn’t stray from the black car even as he was pulled over, watching it decide to turn right and exit the freeway, speeding away and out of sight.

“…I guess I’m not as good a driver as I thought, huh, Tetsu?” Bokuto joked weakly, turning his shoulder to see Tetsurou. The boy looked just the slightest bit worried, but it faded in a second when he saw the policeman stepping out of his car behind them.

“Oh man…you are _so_ dead when mom hears about this!” Tetsurou stressed. He tried not to sound too thrilled. He loved when people got in trouble.

“Damn. I guess you’re right.”

The cop knocked on Bokuto’s window, and the hitman had never been so happy to get a ticket before. He rolled down the window and greeted the tan, muscular man with a sheepish grin.

“License and registration, sir—do I need to tell you everything you did wrong, or did you put it together?” The policeman asked with a raised brow.

“I think I know. What’s my fine?”

“Well, that’s 9400 yen for speeding, 7300 for running a red light, 9900 for using a turning lane as a passing lane…”

“Tetsu, what’s that add up to?” Bokuto asked.

“26,600 yen!”

“Right,” The cop nodded, handing Koutarou his ticket. “Hope you’re not learning anything bad from this man, kid.”

“I’m not!” Tetsurou shot his father a devilish grin. “Hey, policeman-san?”

“It’s Daichi.”

“Daichi-policeman-san. Have you ever been in a car chase and had to shoot someone’s tires out?”

The cop named Daichi gave Bokuto a scowl, as if Tetsu had learned that from him. Maybe he had. They watched a lot of crime shows over the week, but only because Tetsurou wanted to.

“…Can’t say I have,” The officer replied. “And I _hope_ I won’t have to.”

“Don’t worry, officer, my boyfriend won’t be letting me drive his car after today!” Bokuto said cheerfully.

“Good. Because if I’m the one to pull you over again, it’ll cost you more than just a fine.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

“Take care, son,” Daichi nodded to Tetsurou. “Tell this guy to ease up on the gas pedal, alright?”

“Yes, sir!” Tetsu saluted.

Once the cop got back into his own car, Bokuto carefully merged back onto the highway, looking behind him just to make sure the black car hadn’t returned—there was no sign of it, but Koutarou still didn’t feel very at ease. He didn’t like being toyed with. That was his job as a hitman, and it was no fun being at the other end of this rope. Whoever the person stalking Akaashi and Tetsu was had to be involved with Shirabu somehow. Since Komi lost track of him, anything was possible. And that’s what made Bokuto so scared for his family.

Komi and Fukurodani may have been silently backing Akaashi up all these years, but given Bokuto’s history with them, he wasn’t very confident in their ability to protect Tetsu and him if things escalated. That left Bokuto alone in this fight.

“Okay, Dad—there’s one more red light up ahead. Don’t do anything crazy!”

“I’ll try my best,” Bokuto gave a fake smile. “Are you excited to see your mom?”

“Mhm! His flight should land in a few minutes!”

“Great. Let’s go.”

The hitman did his best to be in the moment as he and Tetsurou arrived at the airport, but his paranoia was at a high—he couldn’t stop looking over his shoulders, keeping Tetsu as close to him as possible, staring into the souls of anyone they interacted with just to make sure they didn’t have a hidden agenda. They managed to make it to the middle of the airport where a herd of tired Japanese ballerinas were already grabbing their bags and heading home. Bokuto had a bouquet of flowers in one hand and was holding Tetsurou’s with the other, trying to look less tense as he scanned the wide area for Akaashi.

“Hmm…I see Suguru, and a bunch of other ballerinas,” Koutarou said, narrowing his eyes for a better search. “Do you see him anywhere?”

“There he is!” Tetsurou pointed at the escalade. “I see him and Uncle Konoha!”

Bokuto followed his son’s finger and spotted Konoha riding the escalade, at least eight bags piled onto his shoulders—Saruki was behind him, hidden by even more bags. They must have really went all-out with their shopping spree. Finally, there was Akaashi, who saw them and was giving a little wave…only it was hard, because he was trying to balance on a pair of crutches.

“Hey…why is he on crutches?” Bokuto thought out-loud, squinting harder and confirming what he saw. “Oh my gosh, Akaashi’s hurt!”

“What?! Where?!” Tetsurou worried.

“Come on!”

Tetsu and Koutarou barreled through the crowd together and met Konoha, Saruki and Akaashi at the end of the escalade, immediately scanning over the injured ballerina: there was no cast or blood, but Keiji’s left ankle was taped, and it was obviously swollen, judging on how he wasn’t even wearing a shoe over it. Before Akaashi could explain, his son and boyfriend surrounded him, immediately bombarding him with questions and concerns.

“Oh my god!”

“Bokuto—”

“What happened?! Oh my god!” Koutarou repeated, leaning down to investigate. “Your ankle! Is it okay?!”

“Who did this to you, Mom?” Tetsurou demanded to know, looking around the airport wildly. “Where is he? I’ll give him a piece of my mind!”

“What a dramatic pair you two make,” Konoha rolled his eyes, letting their dozens of bags drop from his shoulders. “He just sprained it a little. Take a chill pill.”

“I’m really okay,” Akaashi assured them, hating all the attention he was receiving. “Saruki’s the one who got food poisoning.”

Saruki dropped the other bags on cue, collapsing into a nearby chair; Konoha joined him, tiredly leaning against his new boyfriend. Tetsurou and Bokuto were still looking Keiji over, hoping he wasn’t in too much pain, hoping the crutches weren’t rubbing on his arms, but the ballerina knew he could distract them with love and affection.

“What, don’t I get a hug?” Akaashi motioned to Tetsu. His son beamed and carefully wrapped his arms around his mother’s waist, hugging him tightly. “Good boy. I missed you a lot.”

“We missed you, too, Mommy!”

“What are those?”

Bokuto had previously been staring at Akaashi and silently wondering how he could have let him get hurt when the ballerina noticed the bouquet he held at his waist. Tetsurou motioned for him to hand over the gift and Koutarou shook himself out of his funk to be the perfect gentleman.

“Oh—here’s some flowers for _my_ flower,” Bokuto said (ignoring Konoha’s gagging noise), handing over a beautiful arrangement of pale yellow flowers.

“Bokuto-san…I was only gone for a week,” Akaashi reasoned, blushing gently none-the-less. “You didn’t have to get me these…”

“Duh. I know I didn’t _have_ to, but we thought it was a cool idea, right, Tetsu?”

“ _Duh_ , Mom!”

“That’s very sweet of you two,” Keiji smiled. “We’ll put them in a vase when we get home.”

“Yes, let’s _please_ go home,” Konoha groaned, nudging Saruki up. “I’m still hungover and in desperate need of my own pillow.”

Bokuto piled all of Akaashi’s bags onto his shoulders (which was quite a sight) while Tetsu held the flowers and led his mother to where they parked; the speeding ticket was forgotten about for a while as everyone got reacquainted with each other. Aside from the sprained ankle, Akaashi looked well and healthy, cheeks pink, eyes tired but alert, skin irritatingly flawless even after a long flight. Konoha and Saruki must have gotten the worst of the trip, piling into a taxi after Saruki threw up in some nearby bushes…at least Akaashi had drank some water before they started having a shot contest in the motel room.

“So! Tell us! How was the trip? Aside from busting your ankle?” Bokuto asked eagerly once they had all piled into the Lexus.

“It was great. Our shows were sold out each night, and they wrote some nice articles about us in the papers.”

“Did Salazar pick up any chicks?” Tetsu asked from the backseat.

“A few.”

“But not you, _right_ , Keiji?”

“Of course not,” The ballerina laughed lightly. Something sitting on the dashboard caught his eye, and he reached forward to grab the piece of paper. Bokuto’s heart stopped when he saw what it was. “What’s this? A speeding ticket?”

“Daaaad, you didn’t even hide the ticket?!” Tetsurou said in exasperation.

“…Oops.” _I’m a little preoccupied today._

“Oh well. It’s just a ticket.”

Bokuto and his son shared a look, both confused at the lack of reaction from Keiji. He must have been more tired than they thought, to write that off so quickly, without even scolding his boyfriend? Akaashi _loved_ scolding his boyfriend. Not that the hitman was complaining. He just hoped Tetsu didn’t tell his version of the story…

“So—you two must have had a lot of fun, Tetsu,” Akaashi addressed, shaking out of his fatigued stupor. “Your dad sent me a lot of nice pictures. Were you a good boy?”

“Mhm!”

“Is that true?” The blue-eyed ballerina glanced over at Bokuto with a cocked eyebrow.

“He was an angel, Akaashi, just like I said!” Koutarou backed him up, winking at his son in the mirror. Tetsu smirked, reflecting his father’s image more than he knew. “I may not have experience in babysitting, but I’m pretty sure he’s the coolest, most fun, most well-behaved kid ever.”

“Now I _know_ you’re lying.”

“Mooooom!” Tetsurou giggled, pushing at his mother’s seat. “You’re teasing me!”

Bokuto thought he might suffocate from how much love was in the air at the moment. It seemed like just when he was getting the hang of being wanted and useful in this new life, Tetsurou and Akaashi ganged-up on him, showering him with goofy jokes, affectionate smiles, wholesome company and things Bokuto could never explain. Did Komi and Yukie understand this emotional mechanism? Did Konoha, in his new relationship with Saruki, understand? Could there be anything better than the three of them (and maybe a few more…) together?

“Seriously, though, we had a blast,” The fish fryer assured Akaashi with a smile glued to his lips. “We made a snowman, had hot chocolate, did math stuff—oh, and we may have melted crayons in one of your pots.”

“You _may_ have?”

“I take complete blame,” Bokuto vowed, holding one of his hands up in surrender. “I misread the instructions on how to make crayon candles. But we bought you a new one, so don’t worry!”

Akaashi wanted to get mad about the traffic ticket and his ruined pot, and his sprained ankle that was throbbing uncontrollably, but his mind was still hazy from his week in France. Konoha made him drink too much, Suguru was Suguru, Saruki kept asking him how to make it clear that he didn’t just want sex from Konoha—Akaashi was exhausted. Right now, all he wanted was to lay in bed next to the two loves of his life and fall asleep.

“Well, I’m glad you boys had fun,” Keiji exhaled, letting his eyes shut as they drove into the Nekoma district.

“We had _so_ much fun, Mom! But—But next time, we should all go to Paris together!”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Wah—for real, ‘Kaashi?!” Koutarou said in surprise. “You really want to babysit the two of us in France?”

“Most families go on vacations together every summer,” Akaashi shrugged simply as they pulled up to the house. “We should start a tradition of our own.”

Bokuto shot him a bright smile, immediately jumping to help him out of the car once they were parked; Tetsurou did his best to carry a few bags, though he only took the ones he thought contained his presents. Akaashi insisted he wasn’t in much pain, but Bokuto forced him to lay out on the couch and let he and Tetsu put everything away. Well—they threw the bags into Akaashi’s bedroom, but they were going to put the stuff away later. For now, they were more concerned about the duffel bag that had gifts from Paris.

“Open yours first, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi ordered, ignoring how Tetsu’s mouth dropped open in shock. “I want to see if what I got you fits your skin tone.”

“What?! Come on, Mom, I’ve been waiting for a _week_!”

“Ooo, ‘Kaashi got me fancy French clothes?” Koutarou teased, opening the wrapped box as slowly as possible, just to irritate his son. The hitman was expecting a cool jacket and maybe some new sneakers, but instead, he pulled out a dark suit jacket, the beginning of a very expensive-looking outfit. With it was a matching pair of dress pants, free of any wrinkles or blemishes, slate black Armani formal shoes and a black turtleneck. Bokuto didn’t have to know what it cost to realize how high-end the outfit was. It reminded him of Fukurodani’s clan leaders and the expensive brands they wore around town. Akaashi would probably agree that if Bokuto wore this out on the town, he would ruin all other men for everyone.

“Wow. This is _smoking_.”

“You like it?”

“I love it,” Bokuto smiled, leaning over to lay a kiss on Keiji’s nose. “Thanks, babe!”

“There’s something else in the pocket…” Akaashi hinted.

Tetsurou impatiently rocked back and forth on the floor, half-heartedly watching his father reach into the jacket pocket and pull out a silver Frost Nyc wristwatch to go with the rest of his outfit.

“Okay, _now_ who’s spoiling us?” Bokuto wailed with wide eyes, slipping the sparkling watch on for a size. “Tetsu, don’t I look rad?!”

“…It’s cool,” The boy nodded stiffly. Everything his dad wore was cool, but Tetsu couldn’t stop thinking about his own presents. Did his mom get him a matching outfit? Did he get a shiny watch, too? He didn’t like watches, but maybe he could sell it to some of the older kids during recess…

“Okay, sweetheart, you can open yours, now,” Akaashi relented, sensing his inner-struggle.

Tetsurou tore into a fancy bag immediately, pulling out a heavy object wrapped in tissue paper and nearly launching it across the room in his excitement—Bokuto neatly folded his clothes away and decided he would admire them later, because watching his son open presents was just too cute to pass up.

“Woahhhhh—it’s a snow globe!” Tetsu announced, spinning the object around to investigate all the little intricate details. “Look, the Eiffel Tower’s inside! So cool!”

The seven-year-old violently shook his snow globe, watching the white particles sprinkle down onto the tower; he and Bokuto were preoccupied with that object for the next ten-minutes, Akaashi content to watch them quietly, glad when they decided it would look best next to Keiji’s blue crane sitting on top of the fireplace. He really did miss those two clowns when he was in Paris…Konoha and Saruki were fun, and it was nice getting to socialize with a new ballet crowd, but the ballerina had gotten so used to the soft, domestic life he lived it was strange being somewhere Tetsu wasn’t demanding a snack or an impromptu runway show. And Akaashi missed Bokuto groping him in the kitchen. And his dorky laugh and fuzzy eyebrows. (But he did have a good time seeing Konoha and Saruki have drinking contests that only ended when Konoha tackled the poor yakuza subordinate into a messy kiss.)

If this was how the rest of Akaashi’s life played out, leaving once in a while, coming back to a lively household with Bokuto and their son, well…he would be okay with that.

“Alright—while Tetsu’s trying on his new sweater, you want to get _reacquainted_? Body wise?”

“Is that all you think about?” Keiji mumbled tiredly, kicking at Bokuto on the other end of the couch. “He’ll be back in like, two-minutes, Kou…”

“Not that! Well…tomorrow, hopefully,” The hitman added thoughtfully. “I meant do you want a massage? Blood circulation helps with swelling, you know.”

“You pulled that right out of your ass,” The ballerina snorted, but still scooting forward so his ankles were resting on Bokuto’s lap. “Yes, please.”

Koutarou happily began working the tense muscles of Akaashi’s legs and ankles, being careful around the sensitive sprained portion, house quiet for just a few minutes; Keiji knew first-hand how strong and deadly those hands were (he hadn’t forgotten the large number of people Bokuto admitted to _killing_ ), but with him, they were gentle, firm, hitting all the right nerves and practically wringing the stress from Akaashi’s body. _How could these be the same hands that murdered over seventy people?_ Keiji wondered, eyelids slipping closed. _To think, back when we dated, he wasn’t going to business classes at all—he was tracking people down and killing them…_

“Honestly, I’m kind of glad I’ll be out of commission for a few weeks,” Akaashi admitted, tearing his mind away from the path it was headed down.

“Yeah, I bet you’re exhausted from all your shows; you’ve been working really hard on them! Plus, you have to deal with that snake Suguru every day…it’ll be nice just to hang out with Tetsurou and I, right?”

“Well…yes.”

Bokuto caught his tone, peering up from his soothing massage to try and read Akaashi’s troubled expression. The fish fryer wasn’t the only one who had gotten good at lying over the years.

“…Are you happy for a different reason?” Koutarou wondered.

“Well…my real fortune on New Year’s Eve was a bit more unlucky than I made it out to be,” Keiji admitted. “But it must not have come true, though, since I managed to come through on the lie I told: a mild injury at work. It’s funny how things turn out like that.”

“What did the original fortune say?”

“Nothing.”

Bokuto gave him a look, and Keiji sighed, pulling his feet back and sitting up to hug his knees; Akaashi really didn’t believe in superstitions or curses like a lot of people, but he knew the three closest people in his life did. Konoha was as superstitious as they came, Tetsurou liked the idea of cursing people and twisting fate, and Bokuto—well, he had been on the wrong end of fortunes many times. What would he think of this dark omen? Akaashi didn’t want to say it out-loud, for fear that maybe, just maybe, that would throw its magic into action, but Koutarou was looking at him so intently, so protectively…he fell for that instinctual need to let Bokuto protect him every single time.

_And maybe that’s what will get him hurt._

“It said…that lies would affect my strength this year. A terrible fight is on the horizon, and that my mate will—destroy their own soul to protect and earn my forgiveness.”

The hitman was quiet for a minute, quickly decoding that curse in his head; Akaashi suddenly didn’t feel very well and hoped he hadn’t just jinxed himself. But saying those words out-loud really made it clear who the fortune was talking about: the only mate Akaashi ever had was Bokuto, and even though he did forgive him for what happened all those years before, there was no doubt in his mind Koutarou was still picking up the pieces and trying everything he could to heal old wounds. Keiji hadn’t told him the entire truth about the extent of he and Shirabu’s relationship. Maybe Bokuto was lying about something else, too, despite the agreement they made when the hitman came stumbling into their lives.

The curse sounded spot-on for their current situation, and that’s why Akaashi was so frightened.

“That’s…interesting,” Koutarou nodded, staring at the blue crane he bought Keiji for New Year’s. “But I wouldn’t worry about it—I don’t know if you know this, ‘Kaashi, but you have a tendency to be a bit dramatic.”

“Me _dramatic_?” Akaashi repeated in disbelief, remembering the time he had to console his boyfriend when he dropped his ice cream cone the first summer they were together. “I’m not _dramatic_ , I’m just a realist. Not that curses are real. They’re not. I’m just…being cautious.”

“Well, they’re just stupid fortunes anyway!” Bokuto waved off, scooting close enough where he could lean on Keiji’s knees, a few inches away from the ballerina’s pretty face. “I’m just glad you’re back. I really did miss you, ya know.”

_Ugh…he’s so good at distracting me. I’ll allow it, but only because I’m so tired._

“I missed you, too.”

“Not as much as me.”

“Liar,” Akaashi murmured, feeling the heat from Koutarou’s lips getting closer to his.

“Oh?” Bokuto questioned. “We’ll see about that, Akaashi Keiji.”

Their lips were only together for one second, maybe two, before Bokuto buried his head into Akaashi’s neck, wrapped his arms around the ballerina and pulled him closer, prompting Keiji to lower his knees so their chests could touch. He wanted to sigh, to maybe cry a little, but all he could do was hug Koutarou as tightly as possible, just to let him know there was no possible way he or Tetsurou could love him as much as he loved them. He had gone seven-years without having their wonderful combination in his life, and Keiji desperately wanted things to stay just as they were. He didn’t want anyone to change, or go away, or be taken away by anything or anyone.

“Mom, this sweater is _dope_!” Tetsurou shouted while sprinting back into the room to show off his new sweater. “Check it!”

“Yooo, that is _so_ dope!” Bokuto agreed, hopping off the couch excitedly. “Hey, let’s show your mom our new handshake!”

Akaashi gave a pained smile as he watched Tetsurou and his boyfriend perform their elaborate handshake together, silently praying for the life of him, that the New Year’s Eve curse he received wouldn’t come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> doesn't it drive u crazy when I include just enough dramatic scenes in between fluff to keep you hanging on? can u feel the tension building with each chapter? do u find yourself wishing there was a big confrontation to really bust things open?  
> good(¬‿¬)


	9. "caus' you never know"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, kenji...u know i love u

_“Now it’s over, it’s the last time_

_I can’t believe it_

_I can’t let go, caus’ you never know”_

“Why are we still holding this guy? It’s been two days—if he was gonna tell us something, I think he would’ve done it by now.”

“The boss thinks he knows something important.”

“Even if he does, I don’t think he’ll give it up…”

“It doesn’t matter what we think. Shirabu-san will be here any minute, and we need to make sure he’s awake for more questions.”

Kenji Futakuchi distantly overheard a conversation between two of Shirabu’s minions right before the door was opened—had it been two days already? Time was a mere illusion in this chamber. Kenji didn’t think the light streaming in from a small vent in the ceiling had ever gone out, but apparently two long days had passed. He wasn’t sure if he was underground in Fukurodani or if they had transported him to Shiratorizawa. After refusing a large sum of bribe money from Shirabu Kenjiro, it didn’t take long before force was used to extract information about Fukurodani’s ex-hitman, Bokuto Koutarou.

Two days. Over forty-eight hours. Kenji liked to think that was an impressive amount of time to hold-out on information; the strong taste of iron and blood tainting the thick air around him proved that much. Besides, any knowledge Kenji had left was probably knocked out by the relentless fists and kicks that continuously concussed his brain. You’d think they’d want his head undamaged. Nothing seemed to matter, however, because Shirabu would keep sending his men inside to fuck Kenji up some more: sometimes they used belts or knives, sometimes they just relied on their own strength. One man pulled five of Kenji’s teeth out using a pliers—it was a cheaper way to get rid of cavities.

The left side of his face was stiff and swollen, but through the slit of his sore right eye Kenji could see relatively clear—on the concrete below laid four of his fingers, cut off during the first night. Their flesh seemed pale, now, though it was difficult to tell because of the dark blood pooled around the pile of digits. Getting his fingers sawed off hadn’t hurt the worst, though. Kenji’s hands had stopped tingling and throbbing because his mind had latched onto the burnt, flaking flesh of his bare back.

 _Was it water they used, or tea?_ Kenji wondered, thoughts distracting themselves from the footsteps coming his way. _I can still feel some parts bubbling…it still feels like water is dripping down…maybe it’s blood? I’m not sure. It hurts. It hurts._

_But is that all they got?_

“Well, Kenji-kun,” A familiar voice belonging to Shirabu began. Futakuchi could see his shoes and hoped they got stained with blood. “Are you ready to confess Bokuto Koutarou’s sins, yet?”

Someone behind Kenji yanked his head up by the loose piece of scalp on the back of his skull, exposing his sensitive eye to the light above and the ugly image of Shirabu Kenjiro. If only their clan leader knew what Shirabu was up to…Kenji liked to think he wouldn’t approve. Not that it mattered, though. With how much blood the informant had already lost, how bruised his brain and body were, how much of his skin had been burned or sliced—it wouldn’t be long, now. Shirabu must have known that, too, because he looked more displeased than ever as he glared Kenji down.

“Well? Have you finally realized that you’re lying for nothing?”

 _I’m glad I don’t make copies_ , Futakuchi thought randomly. _Komi will be pleased…and maybe Akaashi and his son will be safe. This whole time, it’s kind of felt like Shirabu knows more than me, anyway—why does he still think I have information he wants?_

“H…How m-ny times…do ah have t-o tell ya?” Kenji huffed, fat lip and missing teeth making it difficult for him to speak. “I don…don know _anythin_.”

“And how many times do I have to tell _you_ , Kenji Futakuchi, _not to lie_?”

A punch came at the informant’s face from his left side; that area, Kenji could feel, and his ears began ringing immediately as fresh pain radiated through his heightened nerves. The chair he was tied to kept scraping across the third-degree burns on his back, and the ache in his face triggered other injuries; his blackened feet that had been frozen felt like they were about to fall off, the knife still lodged into Kenji’s right thigh began burning, and his torn, puffy gums oozed out more ounces of blood. The physical pain wasn’t the worst part, still—Kenji just didn’t understand what the hell they wanted from him. Sure, they repeated the same phrases over and over again, burned them into the informant’s brain, but all their questions seemed to already have answers.

The culprit himself seemed to already know everything.

“Tell me!” Shirabu demanded in a shout. Kenji’s ears rang and rang, but he heard the man loud and clear. “Tell me everything you know about Bokuto Koutarou. What are his secrets? How long has he known Akaashi Keiji? Is that _boy_ really their son? Does Bokuto know who I am? Is Akaashi sending him after me? Are they getting help from the Fukurodani clan, _what_?!”

Everyone in the room was confused when the tortured man suddenly snorted over his own laughter instead of answering any of Shirabu’s questions. They weren’t sure how laughter was even _possible_ in his condition, given that they had tortured almost every part of his body, not to mention, his mind. Despite the dryness of his throat and the enflamed condition of his mouth, Kenji just couldn’t stop laughing. Stupidity always made him laugh, and it seemed he had finally figured out what Shirabu was really after this whole time.

“I don’t see anything about your situation that should prompt laughter, scum,” Shirabu snapped. Kenji’s laughs cut-off, turning into actual words no one could comprehend. “What? What did you say?”

Kenji’s right eye peeked open. His torturers were shocked to see a gleam of playfulness dancing amongst their glossy surface and eagerly waited to hear him repeat his words. Was this it? Had they finally broke him after two days of torment and horror?

“I…said—” Kenji coughed violently, blood from his gums slipping out from the corner of his raw lips. “I can’t wai— _wait_ …to watch him kill you.”

One of the men raised his arm to hit Futakuchi, but Shirabu interrupted by grabbing hold of the informant’s jaw and jerking his face upwards. It was satisfying, seeing the usually callous and cool Shirabu Kenjiro so flustered and irritated. Kenji felt a small bit of happiness numb the unbearable agony his body was currently in.

“ _Kill_ me? _Kill_ — _me_?” Shirabu repeated in disbelief, words hissing against the bloody man’s battered face. “He isn’t going to lay a _finger_ on me. I’ve been planning my revenge on Akaashi Keiji for _years_ , and your little friend isn’t going to prevent me from succeeding. If anything, I’m going to make that whore’s torture last as long as humanly possible, and I’m going to do it right in front of that hitman he calls a lover. And that bastard kid of theirs? The one Keiji swore was _mine_? …He’s going to get it the worst. Whether or not you tell me anything, I plan on making that boy un _recognizable_.” Evil, pure evil tan eyes stared into Kenji’s chestnut ones, fire raging behind them. “This is your last chance to speak. Tell me what I want to know, _now_.”

The informant’s previously slow, tripped-up heartbeat suddenly quickened. Oxygen flooded Kenji’s lungs as he panted, blood still dripping from his mouth and making him look like a rabid, injured animal trapped in a corner by a ruthless hunter. His skin was blazing hot, and Futakuchi didn’t know if he was already dead or about to die, but he didn’t care—all the adrenaline inside his bloodstream worked its hardest to move his lips, and the burning, the aching, the throbbing was all momentarily forgotten.

Kenji spit a steam of blood and saliva to the side, then used his one good eye to stare right back at Shirabu.

“E-rythin’…every question y-ou’ve asked me…you already know—the answer to.”

“What?”

“ _Huff_ …you…you asked me—caus’ you thought the answer might change,” Kenji wheezed, blood rushing to his head. “B-ut they won’t. Ya see…that guy, Bokuto— _cough_ …he ain’t a myth. He’s _real_ …and…de-ep down, I think you want—want to win Akaashi _back_.”

“You’re mistaken,” Shirabu retorted, though slower than usual. “I’m going to slaughter him. _And_ his son, _and_ Bokuto, and anyone else who gets in my way.”

“No,” Kenji weakly shook his head. All the pain was gone, replaced by anger and determination. “If ya…if you wanted that, you would just— _do_ it. You asked me… _huff_ …because you want to turn Akaashi against him. Ha—sorry to disappoint, _Shitty_ -san, but…the o-only info I got is wha-t you already know.”

“And what is it?” The other man asked dangerously. “What important information do I already know, Kenji-kun?”

The beaten informant panted roughly, moistening his lips without breaking eye-contact.

“Bokuto Koutarou,” He huffed. “Is better than you.”

Everyone in the room was completely silent, not daring to breathe or blink, much less, speak-out; even the men who had been torturing Kenji for days didn’t want to see what came next. But instead of lashing out, Shirabu just stood there—he didn’t take his gun out, or punch Kenji in a fit of rage…he just stared him down, lips drawn tight, nearly in a snarl as he listened to the informant go on.

“He’s better…stronger than you _ever_ will be. _Huff_ … _huff_ …he won’t hide, o-or wait for his clan to save the day. He—he deals with problems so people he loves don’t have to! _Huff. Huff. Huff_. And j-just you wait, Shirabu,” Kenji threatened through his heavy breathing, blood covering his mouth. “I don’t know if he knows you… _cough_ …b-but he will. And he’ll win, because he’s _better_ than you! Because no matter—no matter how hard you try, you _can’t_ be him! You’ll never be him, and Akaashi Keiji will _never_ take you bac—!”

Something razor sharp and cold entered Kenji’s body, breaking through fragile skin and bruised bone to pierce his heart. When he looked down, the same knife that had been implanted in his thigh was now stabbed into his chest. Kenji hadn’t felt a thing. Shirabu’s white knuckles were wrapped around the handle tightly, and finally, he yanked the object out, watching blood gush out at rapid speed, colliding with the dried red staining Kenji’s stomach. The informant of Date Tech released a weak cough, but didn’t cry out—he was too tired, too weak to produce any noise. His right eye was wide for only a split-second, and then it closed entirely.

Shirabu and the others watched. Another quick moment passed, the tenseness leaving Kenji’s weakened figure like a gust of wind—one more strangled huff, and he was gone. His head fell forward, limp, hovering over the bloodied mess of his mutilated body that took all Shirabu and his thugs could give. The air turned edgy almost immediately as the Shiratorizawa soldiers stood stiffly, waiting to see what their leader would do next. He still hadn’t stopped staring at Kenji, contempt clear in his gaze, even after the man had turned cold. The already-rotting corpse smell combined with the scents of blood and burnt flesh, marking the dense air as a reminder of what had taken place.

“W-What’s the plan, now, Shirabu-sama?” A soldier dared to ask.

The chamber was quiet, and for a moment Kenjiro didn’t reply, not taking his eyes off the informant’s lifeless carcass.

“…The same plan as before, with just a few moderations,” Shirabu answered lowly. “Get this body out of here. We’ve got work to do.”

~~~*~~~

Bokuto really did love working at Yukie’s fish cart. Ever since he was imprisoned, all the hitman wanted was a sense of normalcy, and there was nothing more casual and mediocre than frying fish for people all afternoon. He was forever grateful that Yukie (and Komi) gave him a job, not just because it reunited him with Akaashi and their son, but because it gave Bokuto routine. Here he was, a convicted murderer, ex-hitman and father, waking up every day to go to work, make that money, pick Tetsurou up from school and spend most evenings in Nekoma with Akaashi. It was as normal as can be. No one who ordered fish from him knew about his past, content to pay and be on their way, no questions asked, and Bokuto really liked that. Maybe this kind of lifestyle was what he had been searching for. Maybe he was just getting sentimental because something had happened today that threatened his new routine.

“Good morning, Mrs. Komi!”

“Sup. Listen, I’ll be busy this afternoon, so you’ll be holding down the fort all day, okay?”

“You can count on me!” Bokuto cheered, throwing his apron on.

“Okay, it’s too early for this kind of enthusiasm,” Yukie groaned, rubbing at her temples.

“…But it’s two in the afternoon.”

“Yeah. Anyway, some guy left a note for you yesterday—I left it by the fryer.”

Koutarou’s chirpy mood immediately turned sour as he glanced over at the fryer, seeing a folded-up note sitting beside it; secret notes were never a good thing. Carefully, Bokuto picked the paper up and scanned over the message:

**9 170-3293, industrial building**

**2** **月** **15** **日**

**11pm**

“Yukie, who left this—”

His boss had already walked away by the time Bokuto turned around. Koutarou knew it must have been from whoever the illusive cameraman worked for; they were finally ready to talk about whatever proposition they thought would tempt Bokuto to abandon his new life and re-enter the crazy world of hitmen and yakuza. Under normal circumstances, if Akaashi and Tetsu (god forbid) weren’t in his life, Bokuto would just ignore the note and forget this ever happened, but…given what suspicious signs had been thrown his way, the fish fryer knew he had to follow this lead. Even if it turned out to be nothing, he had to make sure.

Throughout the day, Koutarou silently tried to decode the note, wondering where that address was, in what part of Tokyo and in what neighborhood. He didn’t remember any blue buildings that stood-out, so he figured it had to be new construction. Today’s date was listed, their meet-up time after Bokuto got off work—they must have known his usual hours. Bokuto did know that the address belonged to someone of high importance, because normally whenever meetings were scheduled a street name or other establishment would be named without giving away the actual location. _It could be a business or company that owns it,_ Koutarou theorized, frowning as he stared at the note. _That could be a good thing. They won’t be too eager to start blasting away in their own company headquarters…but I better bring a gun or two along to hide in the car, just in case._

“Looks like you’re working hard.”

Bokuto immediately shoved the note into his apron and glanced up to see Komi smirking at him. He looked tired, but the shiny wedding band on his ring finger made-up for it.

“Well if it isn’t Mr. Yukie. How’s married life treatin’ ya, bro?” Koutarou teased.

“It’s great, thanks. And thanks for the cat—Yukie loves her.”

“No problem! So, uh…do you want to order something, or are you just here to thank me for being so awesome?”

Haruki’s smile flipped upside down immediately, eyes growing pained and thoughtful; he glanced around the square for a minute before nodding his head to the side.

“Actually, do you have a minute?” He asked nervously. “I wanted to…talk to you about something.”

“…Oh. Sure! I need a quick break, anyway.”

Bokuto closed the cart’s window and threw his apron off, following Komi a few feet away to stand underneath a snowy tree; it wasn’t unbearably cold outside today, but the atmosphere felt more chilled than usual as Koutarou folded his arms together for warmth, waiting for Haruki to say whatever was on his mind. They hadn’t spoken since before the wedding, the same wedding Akaashi skipped out on because his boyfriend couldn’t be there—and that was what had been bugging Komi since he stood at the alter without his best friend by his side.

“Listen, Bo,” Komi sighed deeply, looking over at Koutarou with serious eyes. “I can’t go on like this.”

“Like what?” Bokuto questioned, head cocking to the side. “Being married?”

“No. Us, you and me, not being together. Not being friends. I can’t take it anymore.”

The fish fryer watched with wide-eyes as Komi began pacing back and forth, frustrated and fed-up with how his life was going. During the happiest day of his existence, Haruki had been struck with a feeling of loss and regret, and after looking at their wedding party during dinner, he realized why: Bokuto wasn’t there. He hadn’t been there for over seven-years, and of course Komi noticed, but he never fully comprehended just how much he needed his best friend until the eve of his wedding. No one was there to tease him, then to build him back up again, fix his tie, mess up his hair, interrupt the ceremony, knock everyone’s socks off with a hilarious best man speech. No one was there to do those things, and it injured Haruki’s heart in a way he never saw coming.

Komi liked to think he had toughened-up over the years—and he had. But much like Akaashi, he had also never gotten over letting Bokuto waste away in prison for seven long years.

“On my wedding day, I was a nervous wreck,” Haruki explained, stepping closer to Bokuto. “I cried four times before the ceremony even started, I sat in gum, tried to straighten my hair, and Saruki did his best to calm me down, but nothing was working. Only when I started imagining what _you_ would do did I manage to chill out. I mean, for fuck’s sake, we’ve been best friends since we were _kids_ , Bokuto! How can we stand here and not be joking around and making sure the other knows we’re there for them?! It’s absurd!”

Koutarou wasn’t sure he had ever heard Komi give such a passionate speech before, and yet, all he could do was stand there staring, because he felt the same way. It hurt him to hear how much Komi had been pining over their lost alliance. Over the years, even though Bokuto tried to convince himself that Komi didn’t care, deep down, he knew he was lying.

Even if the clan had broken their friendship, didn’t mean they were successful in breaking their oath brother bond.

“Well? Don’t you agree?” Haruki huffed.

“You know I do. But…this doesn’t change anything, Komi-kun,” Bokuto reluctantly admitted. “You have a family in the Fukurodani clan—they aren’t going to let you be friends with someone they excommunicated.”

“Says who?”

“I don’t know, says the unwritten yakuza rules!”

“Well the time for following rules is over,” Komi snapped, eyebrows furrowed angrily. “Things have been changing. I pull my own weight in the clan, and I’ve bided by their stupid traditions for long enough.”

“So, what, you’re just going to say ‘fuck it’ and start being my friend again?” Bokuto reasoned. “I know you miss me, and I miss you, too, but you’ve worked too hard to throw everything away now.”

“Everything? Like _what_?”

Koutarou was surprised by Komi’s sudden surge of anger, copper eyes narrowing in contempt as he stepped even closer to his oath brother.

“I have _nothing_ , Bokuto—remember what I told you when we were fifteen, when we talked about what we do buy and the things we would do if we were at the top of the yakuza world? Well, guess what? I have _all_ those things: a car, nice suits, Yukie, authority, power, influence—I have all those things, and I’m _still_ not happy. I’m not happy because out of all those things, Yukie is the _only_ one that matters, and I really thought my oath brother would be at the top of that list, too!”

This was not what Koutarou thought would happen today. Although it still stung, he made his peace with the fact that he and Haruki would never be as they were before; he figured that was life. Circumstances, situations change, people move on, move away…Bokuto knew that even happened in the lives of normal, everyday citizens. Akaashi had done it for seven-years while Koutarou was in prison. Konoha moved on from ballet to being a boutique owner. Things change.

_But doesn’t that also mean things can change back?_

“Come on, Bo—we came up in the yakuza world together,” The shorter man pleaded. “We can start over, grow-up beside each other in _this_ life. Isn’t that how you want the rest of our lives to go? Can you forgive me for everything that’s happened and just…let us start again?”

“You don’t have to be forgiven,” Bokuto shrugged, digging his shoe into the ground as a distraction. “You did what you had to do.”

“Still. I’d like to have it.”

The fish fryer thought long and hard, biting his lower lip as he pondered this new offer; of course he wanted to be friends with Komi again. Bokuto remembered the dreams he had in prison, about he and Akaashi visiting Komi and Yukie, having double-dates, raising their kids together, being fat, lazy barbeque dads…he was used to shutting down those dreams, knowing they would only cause more pain, but now, today, Haruki was offering that very same dream. They could be _friends_ again. Life could change for the better, just when Bokuto thought he was at his happiest.

Was it really possible?

Looking at Komi’s determined, hopeful expression, Bokuto thought it just might be.

“…You really want me to be your brother again?” Koutarou asked quietly.

“As if we ever stopped being brothers,” Haruki cracked a smile. “The truth of it is, Bo, I miss you more than I fear what those old boomers will think. I wasn’t lying when I said things have changed—us young punks, we never really understood why the clan sold you out. We’re taking over, and there’s no reason why we shouldn’t be friends again.”

Bokuto knew very well how big of a deal this was. That was why he turned away when a few tears started falling.

“Dude, don’t _cry_ about it,” Komi cringed, turning away as the fish fryer began to sniffle. “Stop. You’re making this even more awkward than it already is.”

“I c-can’t h-elp it!” Bokuto hiccupped, wiping at his eyes.

“Jeez…what a mess.”

Despite being embarrassed, Haruki still loved his oath brother’s stupidity and pulled him in for a long hug, nearly being crushed by Koutarou’s strong arms. But it was comforting to know some things hadn’t changed.

“Good to have you back, Bo,” Komi sighed, patting him on the back before they released each other and stepped back. People were starting to stare at them. That also hadn’t changed.

“So!” Bokuto started, wiping the rest of his tears away. “What’s going on in the clan?”

“Really? You know I can’t tell you shit.”

“Come on, you can tell me a little, oath brother! Any drama lately? Any suspicious deaths?”

Haruki’s face changed a bit, eyes getting worried as he suddenly remembered how _his_ day had started.

“Actually…you know Fukurodani’s informant? Kenji?”

“The guy that gave me the file on Akaashi?” Bokuto clarified. “Yeah, I remember. Is he okay?”

“He’s dead,” Komi said shortly. “Body turned up in the water this morning.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah…there was obvious torture, too. A lot of clans are looking into it, but I can think of better ways to gather information other than murdering an informant.”

Kenji…he was the informant who had all the brief information about Akaashi and Tetsu. He also found those strange surveillance pictures the stalker cameraman had taken. Maybe he had more photos like that of other people, and someone got upset about it. There were a hundred different things that made being an informant for yakuza clans dangerous, but Bokuto was especially concerned about this particular murder. Not only had he gotten information from Kenji in the last few months, but that put whoever had taken and tortured the man within a thirty-mile radius of Nekoma, which was unsettling to the hitman.

Akaashi’s unlucky fortune came back to the forefront of Bokuto’s mind, and he really hoped this wasn’t another bad omen.

“Well, I better let my successful fish fryer friend get back to work. I’ll keep an eye on things, so don’t worry about it, okay?”

“Yeah…okay.” Koutarou nodded. He was still going to worry about it. “Thanks, Komi-chan.”

“Sure. Oh, and Bokuto?”

The hitman looked him in the eyes, recognizing that serious stare that silently told him to stay put and not make any dramatic moves. If only he knew about the suspicious note Bokuto had gotten. If only he knew about the secret meeting with god knows who that was taking place tonight…reason mentioned to Koutarou that he should definitely tell his oath brother, but that was just it—Bokuto didn’t want anyone else getting involved. When others got involved, they got hurt. If anything, Komi redoing their vows was even more of a reason not to tell him.

At least, that’s how Bokuto saw the world.

“Watch your back,” Haruki warned. “Just in case.”

“…Naturally. Can you do me a small favor?”

“Anything.”

“You lost track of Shirabu Kenjiro,” Bokuto recalled. “Find him.”

Komi understood what his brother was requesting and gave a certain nod in his direction.

“With every last resource I have.”

~~~*~~~

Did Akaashi like being able to stay home and relax? For a few days, yes. But after consecutive days of being stuck inside on crutches, he was starting to drive himself crazy. Bokuto was doing his best to help around the house, and he and Tetsu were actually keeping up with laundry and cleaning pretty well for how easily distracted they both were. Akaashi appreciated it. He appreciated them. But he would have appreciated staying home more if he could just get drunk every morning and laze the day away. Since that wasn’t his personality, however (it was more Konoha’s thing), Keiji started making lists of things he could do from the couch that counted as being productive.

First, he made sure their TV, magazine and movie subscriptions were all paid for. Then, he sorted his ballet contracts from A to Z, paid some online bills, responded to all e-mails, did a few phone interviews, used an online simulator to decide what color to paint the bedroom, and ordered some new drapes. All in two days. Akaashi managed to stretch-out planning their family trip to Paris into four days, and by then his ankle was feeling better, so he went down to the ballet studio and watched rehearsals. It was nice being home when Tetsu was, seeing him all happy and energetic after another fun car ride home with Kenma or Bokuto, but Keiji was honestly starting to feel a bit useless.

Then Konoha told him about this website where he got some super cute heels, and the binge online shopping started. After Akaashi had ordered five pairs of boots, three sets of high-heels, three lingerie sets, two sweaters and four new jackets, Bokuto came home at around ten-fifteen.

“Hunnnnnnn, I’m home!” He roared like a madman, entering the living room where Akaashi was currently sitting with several printed receipts and a glass of wine.

“Hey. How was work?” The ballerina asked.

“Oh, it was fine!” Koutarou lied, plopping down beside Akaashi to give him a kiss. “What’d you do all day, good-looking?”

“Hmm…spent a lot of money, helped Tetsu with his homework. The usual.”

“Is he already in bed?”

“Mhm. You can go kiss him goodnight, though,” Keiji added. “He would like that.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll do that before I leave.”

Bokuto stood up and left the room like his comment was no big deal, leaving Akaashi to scramble up onto one crutch and hurry after his boyfriend. He found him in their bedroom looking through his part of the closet—his shoulders were a bit too tense, his cheerful attitude just _slightly_ less exuberant than usual. Something was off.

“Leave?” Akaashi repeated, watching Bokuto slip into the bathroom clutching a white button-up and some grey dress pants. “Do you have to go somewhere?”

“Yeah—Komi and I made-up, so he’s taking me out to dinner! We’re probably going to hit a few bars after and go crazy…but I’m old, so I’ll probably be back by one,” Koutarou answered through the door. “But don’t worry, I’ll bring you and Tetsu-chan back those Fukurodani donuts you like so much.”

Keiji was still trying to pin-down the reasoning for Bokuto’s strangeness, frowning at the door as he silently theorized: _Komi doesn’t like bars_ , the ballerina remembered. _He always used to say they were too loud. Plus, he and Yukie haven’t had their honeymoon yet, so why would he want to be hanging out with Bokuto instead of being home with her? Besides…how come they just made-up all of a sudden?_

The bathroom door opened, and Bokuto exited looking good, grey suit and barefooted as he brushed past Akaashi with a distracted gaze.

“You and Komi are friends again?” Keiji questioned, limping across the room. “What about the ‘politics’?”

“We decided to just say ‘fuck it’ and get on with our lives! You can’t break brothers apart, you know.”

“Oh…well, good. I’m happy for you two.”

“Yeah!”

Bokuto had his socks and dress shoes on and finally shot Akaashi a grin, sliding his crutch away and lifting the dancer up a few inches off the ground before setting him down on top of his own feet. He held Keiji close against him, making sure he didn’t sway or tumble off. Akaashi really wanted to let himself be sucked into that sly, cheerful gaze, but when Bokuto was distracted, so was his boyfriend.

“Don’t worry, ‘Kaashi—you’ll always be my number one guy.”

“That’s n—”

The next thing Akaashi knew he was being kissed deeply, teased by a warm tongue before suddenly being set back down on the ground and balancing on one crutch. Bokuto hurried around the room to grab a belt and a long jacket, trying too hard to make his quick movements casual. Keiji suddenly remembered him acting similar back in their younger days, wondering how he never saw the signs that something was amiss…

“Do you need any help showering before I head out?” Koutarou offered.

“No…”

“Want a massage or anything?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You sure? I can always ditch Komi for some loving~”

Bokuto was smiling, but it faded when Akaashi caught up to him at the bedroom entrance and placed a hand on the hitman’s chest. Deep blue eyes were staring at him underneath dark eyelashes, the ballerina’s expression suspicious and a bit frightening, if Koutarou was being honest. He wondered if Akaashi could feel his heart pounding from anxiety—over tonight’s meeting and being cornered by the love of his life. They stared at each other for a long moment, a silent question hovering in the air between them.

“I know you’re lying,” Akaashi revealed in a low voice. “Where are you going, really?”

“Someone thinks I’m still in the hitman game,” Bokuto answered immediately, unable to lie. “I’m going to tell them I’m not.”

Keiji didn’t freak like Koutarou thought he might, instead just nodded slowly and glanced down. Even though the fish fryer had come clean, he felt bad about trying to cover the whole thing up by using Komi as his scapegoat; Akaashi and him both knew better by now. Seeing his boyfriend trying to solve the mystery himself pained Bokuto, so he stepped forward and wrapped Akaashi in a snug hug as an apology.

“I’m sorry,” Koutarou whispered against his shoulder. “It’s just…instinct for me to lie whenever I’m trying to protect you.”

“It’s okay. Thank you for telling me. And…come back safely,” Akaashi added quietly. “ _Please_.”

Akaashi used his free arm to hug the hitman back, a silent acceptance of his apology and also a plea for Bokuto to heed to his request. Even if Koutarou was just going to set the record straight, Keiji quickly became worried—it was an instinct that had grown stronger over the years, taking care of Tetsurou on his own. It could be triggered within a split-second, and it always got the best of Akaashi, no matter how hard he tried to reason with himself. He truly did believe that his boyfriend was no longer working as a hitman; Bokuto made that clear when they became acquainted again.

It wasn’t _him_ Akaashi was worried about. It was whoever he was meeting.

“I will.” Bokuto leaned back and kissed Keiji one last time, long and sweet. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay? Get some good beauty sleep.”

“I’ll try.”

“That’s my boy,” The fish fryer winked. “I’m gonna go say goodnight to Tetsu. I love you, okay?”

“I know,” Akaashi exhaled softly. “I love you, too.”

Bokuto spared him one last warm smile, and then he was gone.

Koutarou felt strange as he made his way through Tokyo, following the address to a long street in the district of Shiratorizawa. Their yakuza clan used to be one of the more involved and dominant groups in Japan, but in the past twenty-years or so they had fallen off the map after their heirs died. Bokuto knew they were still in commission, however, because their cars were new and updated, and the buildings surrounding him were remodeled. He didn’t know who Shiratorizawa’s boss was, or if they even had a boss, anymore, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

The golden-eyed man parked three blocks away from where the address said to go. The streets were quiet, vacant, the only lights on in the entire area belonging to a large industrial building—the same one Bokuto was set to enter in ten-minutes. If he was being set up for a hit, this would be the perfect place, only Koutarou could see all the best spots for a sniper or another gunman, and there was no one waiting. _Fukurodani wouldn’t team-up with Shiratorizawa if their lives depended on it_ , Bokuto reasoned, shutting his car off to listen to the silence. _Shira may not be as strong as they once were, but a lot of the other clans have old rivalries to settle. If the old boss was going to kill me once and for all, he wouldn’t have waited this long…_

The moon’s glow beamed down at just the right angle, brightening a photograph Koutarou had hanging from his mirror: he unhooked the string and held the image in his hands, admiring the two subjects of his greatest affection. Akaashi was wearing a baggy white sweater and fleece leggings, knees curled up to his chest as he had his arms wrapped around Tetsurou sitting at his left side. Tetsu was in the middle of saying something snarky, mouth open and focused eyes vaguely aware that he was being photographed; Akaashi was smiling for the camera beautifully, eyes crinkled and lips curved in a happy expression. Bokuto wanted to smile seeing his boyfriend so carefree, so in the moment…he wanted him to always be like that. Not just once in a while. He wanted to be able to take a picture like this whenever, wherever and have Akaashi smile like that. Keiji deserved that much, at least. And Bokuto wanted to give him that more than anything in the world. Nothing, no one would stop him from trying. He swore he wouldn’t kill again, was only going to say no and be on his way, but a darker part of him doubted if Koutarou would be able to stop himself.

What if they didn’t accept his resignation? What if they got angry, or decided to take matters into their own hands? Who knew what was going on in the Shiratorizawa yakuza these days…Bokuto didn’t even know who he was meeting with tonight. Were they more ruthless than before? Were they more understanding? Were they doing a favor for the old Fukurodani bosses that sold Koutarou out? The possibilities were too broad, and he didn’t like it one bit. If they attacked him, could Bokuto live with himself if he fought back and killed someone? Could he live with himself if he _didn’t_ fight back and left Akaashi and his son alone again?

No. This had to be settled quietly, without violence. It _had_ to.

“…Thou shall not kill,” Bokuto whispered under his breath, carefully tucking the photo into a pocket. “Thou shall not kill.”

Without wasting another second, Koutarou stepped out of his car, shutting the door loudly so everyone knew he had arrived. His body ignored the brisk winter breeze, keying in on where men were stationed at the door, the darkness of nearby alleys and every sound that echoed down the street. A few more lights were turned on when Bokuto approached the building, guards standing at attention and not taking their eyes off the hitman. He didn’t break his gaze, either, and the Shiratorizawa soldiers got a good look at those famous owl eyes that seemed to outshine the bright light overhead.

“I’m here for a meeting,” Bokuto announced, staying where he was at the bottom of the stairs. He wanted to be ready, just in case. The tallest of the men whispered something to another, and two came down to feel Koutarou up for any weapons. He had none, and the heavy front door was pulled open. Bokuto stepped inside first, following after a lone soldier who led him up a few flights of stairs and down a long hallway—the smaller number of men told Koutarou that he wasn’t going to meet Shiratorizawa’s boss tonight, which only made him more suspicious.

What could someone not at the top of their clan’s food chain want with him?

The building was cold, mostly made of steel, with long, endless hallways and multiple doors, many leading back downstairs where a warehouse most likely stood as their business front. It reminded Bokuto of Komi’s headquarters, only this person’s office seemed to be a secret, judging on its odd location. Just when he thought they were going to go through a closed door, they took another turn, walked up another flight of stairs before finally coming up to a dark door.

“He’s through here. Follow me.”

Bokuto nodded, staying behind the man as he opened the door and lead them inside.

The room wasn’t very large, and Koutarou gave it a quick scan just to make sure no one was hiding for an ambush; there was nothing except for two decorative tables, a fireplace with alcohol bottles sitting on top, all leading to a wooden desk with a chair behind it and one in front. Bokuto noted that he could use the firestick if he really needed a weapon (which he was starting to doubt), then turned his attention to the man they were walking towards.

Koutarou almost couldn’t hold in a snicker. Tetsurou would have definitely attacked this man’s awful hair, the uneven bangs and choppiness of each strand. The tan shade was probably nice to other people, but glossy black was more Bokuto’s type…the man wasn’t as tall as Koutarou, but he made up for it in attitude, arrogant, proud, a jerk if the hitman ever saw one. No, he didn’t trust this creature from the start. Anyone who wore a purple suit had to be considerably deranged. At least, that’s what Tetsu would have said.

“I’m glad you came,” He greeted, though his expression didn’t exactly match. “Come—let’s sit.”

The soldier stood behind his boss as he sat behind the large desk, not taking his eyes off Koutarou; he seemed to be sizing him up, which took others a lot longer than Bokuto because he was trained to see things quickly, to see things for what they really were—and right now, he was certain whoever this punk was didn’t seem to be up to any good.

The situation and atmosphere was tense for a long minute, Bokuto refusing to make the first move and allowing the horribly-dressed man to observe him. _He must be pretty sure of himself if he’s only got one guard in here with us_ , the fish fryer concluded, waiting patiently. _If that’s him trying to appear stronger than he really is, I’m not impressed. Guess I could break the ice first and be polite…_

“Bokuto Kou—”

“Oh, we know who you are, Koutarou-kun,” The man interrupted with a sick smile. Hairs rose on the back of Bokuto’s neck, signaling danger. “You’re famous! Fukurodani’s most efficient hitman, envied by all other clans in Japan. You did seven-years for a murder you didn’t commit…a murder your own clan set you up for, right? If that doesn’t make someone thirsty for blood, I don’t know what would.”

“Before we get into my backstory, can I know your name?”

Why did he keep smiling? It was making Koutarou uneasy.

“Where are my manners?” He said, leaning his elbows on the table to bring him closer to his guest. “It’s a pleasure to meet you—I’m Shiratorizawa’s second-in-command: Shirabu Kenjiro.”

Bokuto saw black. His instincts understood before his brain could, short-circuiting and abandoning all reason. When the black faded, all Koutarou could imagine was his hands wrapped around Shirabu’s neck, squeezing and squeezing until his knuckles were white, until all the breath had left his enemy’s throat, until his thumbs were breaking into flesh. Why? Bokuto didn’t need to think clearly to know why. Not a coherent thought ran through his mind as he imagined himself killing Shirabu, over and over and over again, a thousand different ways, all so _they_ could be avenged.

Who could treat Akaashi so poorly? Who could try to control him, to not let him succeed? What kind of person did you have to be? What cruel, arrogant soul could manipulate and mentally torture Akaashi into submission? What person wouldn’t want to give everything to ensure the happiness of his husband and child? Who in their right mind wouldn’t want to spend time with their son? What kind of person did such a thing?

Still, he had done all these things, had mistreated, used, carelessly tossed away two diamonds into the trash—what kind of person did that make Shirabu?

Bokuto’s mind struggled to break-through his murderous instinct, only succeeding by replacing Shirabu’s image with Akaashi’s. Seeing that, Koutarou was able to control his facial expressions and stop himself from lunging over the desk and killing Shirabu with his bare hands. He couldn’t kill him. He couldn’t. Not when he promised Akaashi, promised his son…

 _No. I have too much at stake. I have too much to lose_ , the hitman’s fuzzy brain slowly reminded him. _I can’t…I can’t…I have to keep my cool._

Three-minutes must have passed since Shirabu introduced himself. The room was silent, other two men watching Bokuto, waiting for his reaction; Koutarou disappointed them by his vacant expression, only following-up with a short nod to show that he heard. It took all he had to sit quietly and do nothing, right across from Akaashi’s abusive ex, who was now in a position of power within a yakuza clan. It took everything Bokuto had to not end things right now, to ensure the safety of his lover and son. Patience certainly was a virtue.

“I’m not going to waste your time, Bokuto-kun,” Shirabu began, smile leaving his lips. “I brought you here because I have a proposition.”

“…Oh?” Koutarou forced out. “What kind of proposition?”

“Well, I’m sure you can guess—I need someone out of the picture. Someone who wronged me many years ago. I want you to kill someone for me. I may add that we simply won’t be compensating you with _money_ —our clan is starting over, you see, so we need a few top positions filled as soon as possible. You’ll also be one of Shiratorizawa’s executives, third-in-command overall.” Shirabu gave a sly smile, proud of his high offer. “Doesn’t that further tempt your curiosity?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“Who do you want me to take out?” Koutarou asked.

They _knew_. They both knew, deep down, that they were thinking of the same person, but Bokuto was still hoping for the best. He was hoping Shirabu hadn’t held onto an old grudge, wasn’t about to try and eliminate an entire family. He hoped he wouldn’t hear his boyfriend’s name fall from those sinful lips. It was the darkest scenario Bokuto could think of, and he hoped, like he never used to before, that it wouldn’t be proven true. He watched Shirabu’s expression without blinking, trying to predict what cruel path would be taken to prevent being blindsided. Even if Bokuto guessed right, however, he doubted he could stop himself from being shocked.

That was why, before Akaashi and Tetsu, Bokuto never tortured himself with hope.

“Oh, just some distant family members tainting the Shirabu bloodline,” Kenjiro continued, as if he wasn’t about to put a price on someone’s head.

“Members?” Koutarou repeated. He couldn’t even hear himself talk. “You want me to kill more than one person?”

“Well, I figured if the first kill goes well, we can add a second. To complete the set, one might say…” Shirabu was purposely withholding the names, just because he liked dangling Bokuto’s nerves out in front of him. “I want you to kill my ex-wife and son: Keiji and Tetsurou Akaashi.”

Instead of his anger boiling up to an endgame, Bokuto found himself suddenly overcome with fear. It was an emotion he wasn’t quite used to, even after everything he had been through. He used to understand its mechanisms, why people at his mercy begged and pleaded for their lives, even when they had no life to return to—but fear was a completely different weapon when he was on the receiving end. In fact, Bokuto’s head was so muddled with fear he could barely bring himself to speak.

How could he speak to someone who wanted his family _dead_?

“I…I’m sorry, but I thought you were Shiratorizawa’s _second_ -in-command, Shirabu-san,” Koutarou tried to clarify. “Doesn’t the clan leader usually hire hitmen? Or have I been out of the game for too long?”

Shirabu’s lips twitched in displeasure, but he hid behind another patient smile.

“I don’t like to bother Ushijima-sama with these trivial matters…but, like I said, we’ll be generous in our pay, and I know the addition of becoming Shiratorizawa’s executive must tempt you, after being rejected by your old clan. Surely you can imagine how feared you would be in Japan if they heard you had joined up with us, hm?”

Bokuto remained silent, thinking over what was being said. His hands were wringing together roughly underneath the desk.

“A strong man like you shouldn’t have to work alone, Koutarou,” Shirabu continued. “Things are changing in our world—the old dogs are out, and we’re taking control. Think of how influential we could be with you on our side; Shiratorizawa could be the powerhouse it once was if we had someone strong and experienced join us. Do this job for me, and you can get back the life you once had, the one they took from you. Don’t you want to be on the winning side for once, Bokuto-kun?”

The hitman glanced down at his hands, seeing that his skin had split open from his nails digging too violently. Shirabu was watching him carefully, trying to read his expression, to no avail.

“…Is that a no?”

 _The things I could do to you…you have NO idea_ , Bokuto thought, blood starting to boil again. _I could rip your throat out in one swipe. I could kill you without any weapons, and it would be so damn easy. I could jump over this desk right now and beat your skull into a wall without blinking an eye. I could do it. You have no idea what I could do to you…_

 _But Akaashi knows,_ a voice interrupted. _He knows what you’re capable of. You told him yourself, remember? Do you really want to prove every doubt he’s had about you?_

_No. No. I don’t want that, but…_

_So?_ It continued in question _. What are you going to do?_

“I need some time to consider it.” Koutarou stood abruptly, bowed and walked towards the door, afraid of what would happen if he stayed any longer. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Excellent! We hope to see you soon, Bokuto.”

Shirabu stood at his office window, watching the hitman hurry down the street and get into his car, speeding away and exiting Shiratorizawa as fast as he could. If only he knew he had just been invited inside a trap…Shirabu liked tricking people, especially people like Bokuto. His boss never liked power-plays, but Kenjiro thrived off them. He liked watching Bokuto drive away, knowing his plan would end in the hitman being dead no matter what: he could see it now.

Bokuto would be given a date to kill Akaashi and Tetsu on. That day, instead of letting Koutarou eliminate them, Shirabu would kidnap his ex and the boy; he would keep them in this very building, maybe in the warehouse, tied-up and gagged so they couldn’t scream for help. He would call Bokuto and ask him to come in with the reasoning that something had gone wrong and they needed to discuss a new strategy. When Bokuto came, they would take him captive, drag him down to where his precious boyfriend and _son_ were—

Then came Shirabu’s favorite part.

Surely by then Koutarou would realize that Shirabu knew about his relationship with Akaashi, knew about Tetsurou not being his son. And that’s what would make the torture even sweeter. Shirabu could practically feel his heartbeat quicken with excitement as he pictured the shattered, helpless expression on Bokuto’s face as he was forced to watch Akaashi’s limbs be smashed, bone by bone, forced to watch him be repeatedly sodomized and beaten until he was no longer the innocent ballerina everyone thought he was. And Tetsurou would watch the whole thing before having his throat slit, or maybe his head bashed in with a baseball bat…Shirabu wasn’t sure which method would cause the most pain. But he would figure it out soon.

Just when Bokuto thought things couldn’t get any worse, the time would come for his own physical torture. With the hitman’s pain tolerance, it would last for days, but he would slowly be worn down; once his blood had been drained, once his fingers and eyes had been brutalized, Shirabu could have his final turn with Akaashi before ending it, ending _him_ , once and for all.

“You’ll be back, Bokuto Koutarou,” Shirabu hissed to himself. “But you’ll be leaving in _pieces_.”

Back in Nekoma, the hitman made it back to Akaashi’s house, and he had never hurried inside so fast before, locking the door behind him and sprinting upstairs. Tetsurou was sound asleep, drooling on his pillow with his legs sprawled out, blankets twisted around his torso; Bokuto stood in his doorway for a long time, just watching his son’s small breaths puff out peacefully. His mind was numb, freeing itself of all thoughts, both good and bad. Tetsu wiped at his face and readjusted, sneaking his cold toes back underneath the comforter and releasing a deep sigh—he and Akaashi never looked so similar as they did when they were both asleep.

Bokuto admired Tetsu’s loose cheeks, fluttering eyelids and quiet breaths, leaning down to gently brush the boy’s messy hair out of his face. Tetsurou must have appreciated that, lips quirking as if they wanted to smile; after triple-checking his son’s window and pulling the curtains over it, he kissed Tetsu’s head and let him sleep.

In a silent state of panic, Koutarou rushed to Akaashi’s bedroom, freezing in the doorway before hurrying forward and making sure Keiji was just sleeping and not dead. The ballerina was curled up on his left side, like always, wearing a pair of Bokuto’s sweatpants and a wrinkled long-sleeve shirt; he seemed to be completely unaware of any danger that should threaten his happiness, a solemn, soft expression on his usually stern face. Very carefully, with all the skills of a hitman, Bokuto laid in bed beside Akaashi, facing him as to admire the view for as long as he could.

Keiji didn’t know his boyfriend was there, content to be soothed by the fingertips gliding over his soft skin. It would be such a shame, seeing someone so kind and thoughtful reduced to nothing but a dead body—Bokuto kept trying to push those gruesome images away, and when he failed, the hitman hid himself in Akaashi’s neck and wrapped his arms around the ballerina’s torso. Things could never go back to the way they were before…Koutarou could never live without hope, without Tetsu to come home to, without Akaashi to come home to. He felt hopeless, hiding in his lover’s neck and desperately praying the night would never end; normally this was when his instincts would kick in, tell him to get a grip and man-up, but now, there was nothing but empty silence.

Being here now, holding the person he loved, Bokuto finally understood fear, and why all his victims begged for their lives in the end.

~~~*~~~

“Tetsu, do you have everything you need?”

“Mom, do _you_ have anything you need?”

“I asked you first,” Akaashi shot back as he grabbed his coat.

“Yeah,” Tetsu snickered, like he was so clever.

“Good. So do I. Bokuto, are you—”

“Already started the car,” Koutarou smiled, popping up behind him. Today he was taking Tetsurou to school and dropping Akaashi off at the ballet studio; he was starting to do some exercises and light stretching just to stay in shape and maintain his ankle’s flexibility. Since Bokuto didn’t have to work, he figured he would tie-up some loose ends while he was home alone…

Akaashi released a quick breath of air, leaning forward to press his lips against his boyfriend’s in a long, appreciative manner.

“What would I do without you, Kou…” He murmured.

“Meh. You’d cry and mope for a while, but you’d get back on your feet eventually,” Bokuto joked. “Hey…why don’t you stay home today so you and I can, _you know_ —”

The fish fryer made a suggestive noise, prompting the attention of Tetsurou, who tugged on his father’s arm and demanded to know what he was talking about. Akaashi stepped on Koutarou’s toe as revenge and rushed them into the car; today was a warmer winter day, sun brightly shining down on what snow piles remained. Icicles were melting little by little, and the frosted backdrop of Akaashi’s window made him stand-out even more than usual. Bokuto wished he could enjoy such a beautiful morning, but his mind was preoccupied. And for good reason.

“You’re coming to get me before we pick Tetsu up, right?” Keiji clarified when they drove up to the studio.

“You got it.”

“Alright—bye baby. Have a good day at school.”

“Bye Mommy! Step on Salazar’s toes whenever you get the chance!” Tetsu reminded his mother.

Akaashi smirked and reached his hand back to squeeze his son’s, then leaned over the middle console to give Bokuto one more kiss—well, it started as one more kiss, but then the ballerina found himself being pulled out of his seat so Koutarou could plant multiple kisses all over his face.

“ _Mmf_ —Bo— _Bokuto_!”

“What?” The hitman said innocently, trapping Akaashi in his arms. “I’m hungry!”

“Hehe! Mommy fell for it again!”

Keiji squirmed out of his boyfriend’s grip, hitting his arm and flashing him a look that was meant to be disapproving, but it was ruined by the smile creeping to his lips. He got out of the car before any other distractions could convince him to give-up ballet all together and just be a stay-at-home mom. Tetsurou waved again, then he and his father were driving off towards the Nekoma school.

“Dad?” The boy prompted when they were a few blocks away.

“What’s up, my man?” Koutarou glanced in his mirror, watching Tetsu fidget with his backpack straps.

“Well…I was just wondering if we could have a fun day again, just us, like we did that one time. Remember?”

“Like when we went to the arcade?”

“Yeah!” Tetsurou nodded happily. “Then we got ramen, remember?”

“I remember,” Bokuto smiled. As if he could ever forget one of the first days he spent getting to know his precious son and his conniving ways.

“We should do that again soon—and—and this time, it’ll be cooler, because I know you’re my dad, now!”

“You’re right. It _will_ be much cooler.”

They drove-up to the school right when Kenma was getting dropped off by his parents; Bokuto was sure Tetsu would run to catch up without even saying goodbye, but he surprised his father by calmly unbuckling himself and slowly moving to open the door. In fact, he seemed to be purposely moving in slow motion, taking a good seven-seconds to get his hand on the handle, and another six-seconds to pull it open.

“What are you doing, bud?” Bokuto chuckled.

“Hm?”

“Why are you moving in slow motion? Are we filming an action sequence or something?”

“Oh,” Tetsu said, as if he didn’t think anyone else would notice his strange behavior. “Well…I just—can you walk me up to the door, like mommy does sometimes?”

“Sure. Let’s go.”

Koutarou led his son up to the school’s stairway, still holding his hand even as other children rushed past them; Kenma and his other friends were already inside, so Bokuto wasn’t sure why they were hovering. Tetsurou wouldn’t really look him in the eyes, zoned-out on where their hands were joined together, like he was deep in thought. Only when Bokuto released his hand and kneeled down did Tetsu snap back into reality.

“Are you feeling okay, Tetsu?” His father worried, feeling the boy’s forehead. “Are you sick?”

“No. I eat a lot of vitamins and protein to keep my immune system functioning properly.”

“Pft. Okay then…is anything else wrong? You’re acting kind of strange.”

Tetsurou’s cat-like eyes looked down, and he started to fidget with his backpack strings again; had he been acting like this all morning? The fish fryer may have been distracted, but he was sure he would have noticed if something was wrong earlier. It felt like Tetsu had something he wanted to say. Did he think Koutarou would be mad? Was it something important, or just one of those weird childhood things Bokuto didn’t quite understand yet?

“Hey—you can tell me, Tetsurou,” The hitman said lowly, putting a hand on his son’s shoulder. “What’s on your mind?”

“Mm…” Tetsu murmured, digging his boot into the wet concrete below. “It’s stupid.”

“I happen to _love_ stupid things. Come on, spit it out.”

Sharp golden eyes finally peeked up to meet Bokuto’s own, fluttering a few times before Tetsurou finally spoke.

“You’ve been at our house a _lot_.”

“…Oh! Yeah, I have been spending quite a bit of time with you guys lately…is that…are you upset about that?” Bokuto tried to clarify. He hoped it wasn’t true—he wasn’t sure if he could handle a rejection at the moment, not with everything going on…he needed to be closer than ever to Tetsu and Akaashi. If his son was about to admit that he didn’t like Koutarou being around so much, it was going to raise Bokuto’s stress-levels even higher. Maybe even break his heart.

“No!” Tetsurou shook his head frantically, stepping closer. “I want you to be at our house _more_!”

 _Okay, now I’m confused_ , the fish fryer thought, trying to decode his son’s dilemma. _Either he just wants me there for protection, or he really does still love me. Man, I really hope it’s the last option…I know I’m not as seasoned a parent as Akaashi is, but he knows that I’ll get better at it, right?!_

“It’s stupid,” The boy shrugged, glancing away again. “You’re at our house a lot, but I want you to be there even more…I’m probably being selfish.”

“No, buddy, you’re not selfish,” Bokuto quickly corrected, leaning his son’s face up so they were looking at each other again. “Tell me why you want me to be around more.”

“Well…it’s just…I _like_ when you’re there, Daddy. I _really_ like when you’re with us,” Tetsu explained. “But I feel bad, caus’ even though you’re there like, every day, I still want you to be there more. I know I’m speaking in tongues, but do you catch my drift?”

“I catch it,” Koutarou smiled. The relief in his chest could not be measured. His son didn’t hate him after all! In fact, it was the exact opposite! “I get where you’re coming from—I was just worried you were jealous of me kissing your mom all the time!”

“No way! I kiss him all the time, too!”

Despite the drama with Shirabu, despite the danger and the horrible decisions Bokuto would need to make as soon as possible, he laughed with his son and pulled him in for a big hug. It was amazing how this kid barely had to do anything to pull this kind of reaction from his father. A simple nod in acknowledgement that he liked having the fish fryer around was enough to soothe Koutarou’s fried nerves. He hoped Tetsu understood how much he was loved, somehow—hopefully he knew that no one else in the entire world could love him as much as his parents did.

Maybe, just maybe, Tetsu understood that just from hugging his father.

“We’ll talk about this more tonight, okay?” Bokuto clarified as they pulled away, to which Tetsu nodded at. “Good boy. Now get your butt to school before you’re late and ‘Kaashi kills both of us!”

“Oh man, I better hurry!”

Tetsurou rushed inside the schoolhouse just as the warning bell rang, leaving Bokuto alone on the steps. He slowly made his way back to the car, but didn’t start the engine; instead, Koutarou began scanning over the property, looking for anything that seemed out of the ordinary or suspicious. He recognized a few cars belonging to mothers of Tetsu’s classmates parked along the street, pulling out and leaving Bokuto the last one standing. The bushes were clear, as were the sidewalks—although no one seemed to be creeping around, Koutarou stayed right where he was for another fifteen-minutes before finally heading back home.

On the way, Bokuto’s guilt finally caused him to call Komi.

_“Hey, can I call you back? I’m—”_

“No,” The hitman said shortly. “We need to talk. Can you slip away for a few minutes?”

Komi went silent for a moment, quiet rustling and a door closing in the background before he spoke again.

_“What’s going on, Bo?”_

“Shirabu Kenjiro is Shiratorizawa’s second-in-command, and he’s trying to hire me to kill Akaashi and Tetsurou.”

Komi’s second silence was much longer than the other, filled with him starting a word and being unable to get a single syllable out. Bokuto waited for the outburst.

 _“I—He—what?!”_ Haruki exclaimed _. “Start over! Tell me everything!”_

“Someone left me a note telling me to come to a meeting,” Bokuto explained quickly. He wanted to forget the other night’s events, but instinct told him to hold on. “I ended-up in Shiratorizawa and met Shirabu there.”

_“…So…Shirabu…he’s—he’s in the fucking **yakuza** , now?”_

“Yeah. I don’t know if his boss is backing him up, but he wants to hire me. Komi, he—he wants me to—” God, Koutarou didn’t know how many times he could handle saying this out-loud, and he had only said it once so far. “…He wants me to _kill Akaashi_.”

Koutarou buried a hand in his hair as he stopped at a red light. Finally hearing himself, the hitman realized just how bad the situation was: Akaashi had a price on his head. So did Tetsurou, a seven-year-old boy. Someone was trying to hire someone to _murder them_. The entire community would be shocked to find a single mother and his young child dead in a warehouse somewhere, tied to a yakuza scheme—rumors would fly, the press would have a field day, no one would feel safe inside their own homes…

_No. Don’t think like that. You can’t think like they’re already dead._

_“This is not good,”_ Komi murmured. Bokuto could practically see him pacing. _“Not good at all…you did tell him no, right?”_

“I told him I had to consider his offer.”

“And what was his offer?”

“Money. A lot of money…and the third position within their clan,” Koutarou sighed. “He practically offered me the entire kingdom.”

_“Well—you’re not going to accept his offer, **are** you, Bokuto?”_

“Who do you fucking take me for?! Of course I’m not going to accept his fucking offer!!!”

 _“Goddamn…he really knows how to tempt a person,”_ Haruki thought out-loud. _“He must have started watching you once he saw you with Akaashi, if he knows so much…”_

“I know he was. He had a cameraman taking pictures of us. He’s probably the one who killed the informant, too—he was probably trying to figure out if Tetsu really was his son.”

_“Well, he fucked-up there. Kenji didn’t have any of those records; I made sure no one had them.”_

“Which means he murdered him for nothing,” Bokuto shook his head angrily. The light turned green, and he slammed on the gas to get home as fast as possible. His hitman instincts were telling him it wasn’t safe to be out in the open like this.

 _“Listen, Bo—I’m going to tell you what you probably already know,”_ Haruki said seriously. _“This isn’t good. If Shirabu is out to get Akaashi for lying about Tetsu and everything else, he’s going to be after you, too. I’ll bet you anything he’s got another plan, one that involves you—and it’s not going to be pretty.”_

Bokuto did already know that. But he also didn’t care. Shirabu wasn’t going to hurt a single hair on Akaashi and Tetsurou’s heads; in fact, he wouldn’t even get close enough. Did Shirabu know that the hitman he wanted to hire would do _anything_ to ensure the protection of his boyfriend and son? Did he have the _slightest_ idea what that entailed? Did he understand the concept of ‘anything’? Bokuto didn’t care if Shirabu wanted him dead. He didn’t care if every yakuza in Japan wanted him dead.

Nothing was going to happen to Akaashi _or_ Tetsu. That was the only thing Koutarou was certain of at the moment.

 _“Hey, listen to me very carefully, okay?”_ Komi started, tone as serious as ever _. “You need to go home. Go home and stay there. I’m going to do what I can on my end; I’ll try to figure out if anyone else is involved. Did Shirabu tell you when you had to get back to him?”_

“No…but I’m guessing it’s sooner rather than later.”

_“Well, we’ll just have to stick to our guns and hold out until then. I’ll send my guys out to Nekoma, just to take a look around, alright?”_

“Yeah…alright.”

Haruki could hear the doubt poisoning Bokuto’s reassurance. He hated seeing his oath brother like this—hadn’t he been through enough in the past seven-years? If only they hadn’t lost track of Shirabu…then maybe they could have stopped him from climbing the ranks and gaining power. Maybe then Akaashi and Tetsu’s lives wouldn’t be in danger. Maybe then they could get their happily ever after, like Komi did with Yukie.

Yeah. He definitely owed Bokuto. And even if it meant drying out all his resources and losing his own men, Haruki was going to do it, because he knew Koutarou would do the same for him.

 _“This game has multiple players, Kou,”_ Komi said quietly _. “You’ve got teammates you can depend on for help, now. Try to remember that, okay?”_

“Oh, Komi,” Bokuto exhaled deeply. “Have I ever told you how much I missed you?”

_“Yeah, yeah…”_

“Seriously, bro. I love you.”

_“Stop!”_

The hitman giggled, feeling a little less depressed as he pulled up to the house. No one was waiting for an ambush, no one hiding between houses or in the yard…it was safe. For the moment.

“Seriously, though, thank you. I feel a hell of a lot better knowing I’ve got some back-up. Oh, and I need one more favor: can you tell Yukie I won’t be able to work at the fish cart anymore?”

_“Yeah—I’ll let her know.”_

“And tell her…thank you,” Koutarou added quietly. “Without that job, I wouldn’t be where I am now. And I never would have gotten with Akaashi again. Make sure she knows that, okay?”

 _“Sure. I love telling her how amazing she is,”_ Haruki said casually.

“Gross…”

_“Keep in touch.”_

Bokuto should have been relaxed for the rest of the day, having most of Fukurodani’s support, but he just couldn’t stop _thinking_. He thought about a million different possibilities, outcomes, ways he could protect his family, ways he could prevent Shirabu from executing his master plan…he must have paced around the entire house ten-times by now. Despite Komi’s encouragement, Koutarou couldn’t stop thinking about the bad outcomes, the “what if’s” that were daring to destroy the two people he loved more than anything in the world.

It wasn’t as if Shirabu was trying to break them up—he was trying to _kill_ them. He wanted Bokuto to murder Keiji and then Tetsurou, a _child_. A child he once thought was his own. He wanted Akaashi dead and gone, out of his life forever, a final, violent goodbye and act of revenge. Bokuto couldn’t bear to think about a world without them. Not now, not ever. And he was the hitman Shirabu wanted to use? Komi was right. Bokuto was definitely a target from the very beginning. Shirabu wanted to bring their entire family down, no matter how or when…

Bokuto had to put on a brave face when he picked up Akaashi and Tetsurou. He smiled, joked and listened to them, but he wasn’t really _there_ —his mind was a thousand worlds away, taking mental pictures that were becoming sad memories instead of happy ones. This couldn’t be it. This couldn’t be the only chance Koutarou got to pick-up his boyfriend and child. This couldn’t be one of the last evenings they spent together, eating supper and having fun together. Hadn’t they just started to merge their routines into one?

Wasn’t this just the beginning?

“Bokuto.”

“Huh?”

“Tetsu asked how your day as a stay-at-home dad was,” Akaashi repeated with a sly smile.

“It was great!” Bokuto answered a bit too quickly. “I got a lot done!”

“Did you do the laundry?”

“Well…no.”

“Did you wash the dishes?”

“…”

“Did you do _anything_ , Dad?” Tetsu giggled in the backseat.

“I was very productive today, thank you!”

“Oh? What productive things did you do, then?” Keiji challenged. “We’d love to hear about them.”

“For your information, ‘Kaashi, I got a lot of thinking done. I mentally planned our second honeymoon, Tetsu’s sweet sixteen birthday party, _and_ I thought about new names for my future motorcycle garage. So there!”

“Our _second_ honeymoon?”

“You didn’t think we were just going to have _one_ , did ya, babe?” The hitman teased, stabbing a finger into Akaashi’s sensitive side.

“Shut up,” He laughed, pushing Bokuto’s hand away. “You haven’t even made it to the first honeymoon, so don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Ooo, mom _roasted_ you!”

When they pulled up to the house, Koutarou immediately went on alert-mode. He triple-checked all his mirrors, glanced over his shoulders the second he exited the car and made sure he was shielding Tetsu as he helped him out of the car. He made sure to walk fast, forcing Akaashi to limp faster after him; only once the door was shut and silently locked did Bokuto release a breath.

_I need to get a grip. Akaashi will know something’s up if I’m acting strange…_

“Were you able to dance today, Mommy?”

“Not today. But my ankle didn’t hurt as much, so that’s a good sign.”

“Sweet nuggets! Your bad fortune is finally over!”

 _Oh no_ , Bokuto remembered in a panic. _Akaashi’s real New Year’s Eve fortune—it said that a storm was coming. It said I would have to destroy my soul to make sure Akaashi was safe. Could it be true? Am I going to break Akaashi’s heart again, AND Tetsu’s, just to make sure Shirabu doesn’t hurt them? I can’t. I can’t leave them, not now…_

“…Right, Dad?”

“Hm?”

“You’re so airheaded today!” Tetsurou commented, causing his mom to flick his ear. “Ow! What? It’s true!”

“Are you okay, Koutarou?” Akaashi asked in concern, looking up at the hitman. “You are acting a little… _slow_ today.”

“I’m fine!” _Could I be any worse of a liar?_ “Well, now that you mention it…there’s something I have to tell you guys.”

Tetsurou and Keiji both became serious, listening quietly as Bokuto lifted his son up and set him on the counter so they were at the same level. For a minute, Koutarou just stared at the two of them, admiring their attentive eyes, the twists of color and beautiful sparkles…the mere idea of those lights being extinguished broke the hitman’s heart into pieces. It was unbearable, knowing someone with power wanted to hurt his family. Bokuto had to gather himself before speaking, lest he should burst into tears in the middle of his speech.

“I wanted to tell you…that I’m not going to be working at the fish cart anymore.”

“You’re not?” Akaashi said in surprise. Tetsu’s mouth dropped open. “Why?”

“Oh no, it’s because of _me_!” The boy shouted in horror, fingers grabbing at his hair. “I told daddy I wanted him to spend more time with us, and now he’s quitting his job to become a house husband!!!”

“No, no, that’s not it, Tetsu!” Bokuto assured him. “I think it’s just about time I open my own business—you know, the motorcycle garage I’m always talking about? It’s not because of what you said!”

“What on earth are you two talking about?”

“Today I told Dad I wanted him to be at our house _all_ the time, because I really like when he’s here, and now he quit his fish fryer job—don’t you see what’s happening, Mom?! It’s the domino effect!”

That reference only confused Akaashi more, and he looked to Bokuto for an explanation as the hitman comforted his young son.

“So…Tetsurou wants you…to move in?” Keiji tried to clarify.

“Well…I think he just wants me to spend the night more. Right, Tetsu?”

“Daddy _has_ to move in!” Tetsurou insisted, standing up on the island and pointing at his parents dramatically. “That’s the only thing that can make this better!”

Akaashi and his boyfriend stared at each other, silently communicating like they always did; the ballerina didn’t have a very stern expression at the moment, eyebrows loose and lips hovering open silently. Bokuto thought he knew what that look meant, but apparently Keiji wasn’t expecting to be so stunned by what his boyfriend said next.

“…I accept your offer, Akaashi.”

“WOOHOOOO!!!”

Tetsurou launched himself into his father’s awaiting arms, yelling and cheering as Bokuto twirled them around in celebration. All the while, Akaashi remained where he was, frozen in place and wondering what had just happened. Tetsu was overcome with joy, running around chanting when Koutarou finally set him down and saying he was going to call Kenma and tell him the great news. Once Tetsurou had left the room, Bokuto slowly turned around and faced Keiji, who was just now getting over his shock.

“Well—I guess you’re moving in, then,” The ballerina huffed, crossing his arms. “Although that wasn’t _exactly_ what I was thinking when Tetsu asked.”

“Listen…I know you’re still having doubts about us,” Koutarou began carefully, holding up a hand to stop Akaashi from denying his statement. “I know you are, but that’s okay—you’re allowed to feel like that.”

“Okay, but what does that have to do with you moving in?”

“I agree with Tetsu. I _want_ to be here all the time. I want to be here every morning when you wake-up and every night when you go to sleep.”

“You already do that,” Akaashi mumbled, glancing away. “But…I just want there to be a space between us in case things go wrong. I didn’t want to jump right to this step because—”

“Because you don’t want Tetsurou to get hurt,” Bokuto finished. He stepped closer, forcing the other to look up and meet his unwavering gaze. “ _I_ don’t want that, either, ‘Kaashi. That’s exactly why I want to move in with you. I’m not doing this because I want to have sex more often, or share the bills and all that stuff—I mean, those are perks, but they’re not my main reasons.”

“So? What are your main reasons?”

The atmosphere changed dramatically, like it always did whenever Bokuto got serious. He leaned in closer, towering over Akaashi but not intimidating him with his intense aura; those golden eyes had never seemed more vulnerable, more honest to Keiji, and he couldn’t help but become hypnotized as he gazed into them.

“I want to fill that gap,” The hitman confessed. “I want to fill the space between us and give Tetsurou a stable foundation, something he can look up to. I know I’m being selfish, and I know you wanted to take things slow, just in case…but I really think that time is up. I think it’s time for us to be together again, like we were before. Don’t you?”

Like they were before…Akaashi remembered what they were like before. Bokuto looked just like this, as he was now, with that same, strong expression, the determined gaze and furrowed eyebrows. His hair was longer, then, a bit more wild, and his grin used to be more devilish, but that powerful jaw was exactly the same; Keiji remembered taking his boyfriend’s face in his palms as often as he could, just so he had another chance to admire its angles. It was the same face he saw today, years later, staring back at him. It was the same face he said yes to when they were just a pair of crazy teenagers in love.

If Keiji said yes back then, when they _didn’t_ have a house or a son to raise, how could he say no now?

“Yes,” Akaashi whispered.

“Yes?”

Akaashi nodded again, reliving that precious moment by letting Bokuto wrap his arms around him and hug until they both lost their breath. Tetsurou came rushing back in briefly, just to tell them how his phone call was going.

“Great news! Kenma says we can ask Yukie to make the fish cart a landmark of our relationship! Can I ask her next time we go there, Mom?”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Keiji agreed, loving how he felt Bokuto’s rumbling laughter all around him.

“Wicked!” The boy cheered, putting the phone back up to his ear. “Yeah, Kenma? The landmark plan is in motion!”

Bokuto was happy. He wouldn’t have to worry about Akaashi and their son being home alone, vulnerable to Shirabu’s thugs in case he took matters into his own hands. That was a cause for celebration, even if it was a small one. The hitman lifted Akaashi up by his thighs, setting him down on the island like he had done to Tetsu earlier, only this time he slid between the ballerina’s legs and leaned into a passionate kiss. Keiji grounded him, just like Koutarou knew he would—just like he needed right now, needed to feel Akaashi against him, needed to reassure himself that Keiji was alive and well, that they were _all_ alive and well, together, at home. _Their_ home.

When their kiss turned back into a tight hug, Bokuto saw his hands wrapped around Akaashi’s waist and silently wondered if he was going to use those hands to break the promise he made—Bokuto wondered, when push came to shove, if he would have to use the same hands that held the love of his life for murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @tsuumei made some AMAZING [hitman Bokuto art](https://twitter.com/tsuumeiarts/status/1309588488271011840) for this fic!!! save your own life and go check it out.  
> yoooo the comment section is LIT and i am LOVING IT. Things are about to heat up even more...


	10. "nobody knows"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i luv u konohaaa--aint never gonna stop loving u, konohaaa

_“Someone like you for me_

_Someone like me for you_

_There won’t ever be a love like that again_

_Nobody knows, we always know”_

Was Akaashi nervous about Bokuto moving in? Yes. Was he also extremely happy Bokuto would finally be living with them? Yes. Keiji couldn’t decide if he was more worried than excited, but he hadn’t had a lot of time to consider the matter since he was going through the entire rehearsal today for the first time since his return. Tetsu was ecstatic about Bokuto moving-in, anyway, so Akaashi was in a rather pleasant mood as he and Suguru practiced the second act together. At least, he was until the snake opened his stupid mouth.

“I hope your injury won’t hold back your performance, Keiji-kun,” Suguru commented, standing behind the ballerina in position as they waited for the director. “It would be a shame if I had to carry the entire show…”

“That would be a shame. But I wouldn’t worry—my ankle feels perfectly fine today,” Akaashi coolly replied. “How have you been since I was away?”

“Worried sick about your precious self, of course.”

“I’m sure…”

Daishou smirked, pressing himself even closer to Keiji as they began to dance, vaguely listening to the director instructing other dancers as they glided across stage together. While everyone else was preoccupied, Suguru continued their conversation—under normal circumstances Akaashi would just ignore his vulgar remarks and focus on dancing, but Daishou’s intriguing prompt captured his special attention.

“I trust your son and fiancé are well?”

“…Tetsu is doing fine. As for a fiancé, I’ve never heard of such a thing.” Keiji narrowed his eyes. “Where did you hear that rumor from?”

“Oh, it’s no rumor—you don’t have to worry about that.” Suguru guided Akaashi towards the floor, then launched him up into a jump before taking his hand once more. “I’m just asking about what I see.”

“And what is it that you _see_ , Suguru-kun?”

Daishou gave a sly smile, but it wasn’t his usual proud, arrogant smirk. There was something more… _envious_ about its curve, like the ballerino was disappointed in Keiji’s lack of self-awareness.

“Despite keeping the identity of your lover a secret, I can tell you’re close to taking a large step forward with him,” Suguru revealed, cold hand sliding into Akaashi’s own. They stepped further towards the edge of the stage, ignoring the conversations and music around them. “I’m just curious as to why you’re being so secretive when this would normally be something other people would triumph over.”

“Maybe because I’m not someone who likes having unnecessary attention on my personal life,” Akaashi snapped shortly.

“Oh?”

Keiji thought he might have missed Suguru’s shenanigans just a _little_ bit, but this irritating conversation threw that out the window. They kept dancing, twirling here, spinning there, and even though Daishou was now quiet, Akaashi couldn’t stop thinking about how easily he had penetrated the ballerina’s façade. It wasn’t that he tried hiding his personal life—but after Shirabu, Keiji learned that keeping your professional and home lives separate was necessary. You didn’t have to be worried about co-workers betraying you that way. Maybe it was a paranoid lifestyle. Maybe he had learned some of these habits from Bokuto. Still, if Suguru managed to guess so accurately, who was to say others weren’t trying as well?

“How can you be so in-tune with the feelings of others and yet be so ignorant of your own?” Keiji provoked after a jump.

“It’s a different skillset. You’re not as difficult to read as you think, dear Keiji,” Daishou informed him, green eyes strangely serious. “You’re battling against being nervous and being excited—there are only a few explanations that come to mind, considering your single mother status. You’re either engaged, pregnant or moving in with your beau. Am I correct?”

“Why so interested in my personal affairs all of a sudden?”

“I’ve always been interested, Akaashi.”

“Because you’re intrusive and lonely,” Keiji said curtly.

That got Suguru to shut-up for a few minutes. Their performance was tenser than usual as they broke apart, then merged back together center stage; Daishou’s arms wrapped around Akaashi, and he fought the urge to shove them off. _Pretend you’re in love, pretend you’re in love_ , Keiji reminded himself like he so often had to do when dancing with Suguru. _Although that would be easier if he wasn’t so horrible_.

“To be honest with you, Akaashi-kun,” Daishou murmured into his ear. “I envy your happiness.”

“Good.”

“I can only wish to be that happy too, one day…I just hope you know how lucky you are to have two people who really love you.”

“What are you talking about?” Akaashi scoffed, correcting his stance. “You have thousands of fans, Suguru. Not to mention all those French ballerinas you hooked up with in Paris.”

Daishou gave a painful smile, keeping quiet as they moved through the final motions of the act; Keiji could feel his heartbeat racing a bit quicker than usual, being careful not to tweak his ankle. He didn’t want to be distracted, but the things Suguru was saying were so annoyingly accurate they were beginning to weigh on Keiji’s mind. Thankfully, they finished the dance without any major incidents, Daishou holding Akaashi’s body close to his as they held the final pose.

“It’s not the same,” Suguru shook his head. “Just remember that being envied also makes you enemies, Akaashi-kun.”

Keiji was taken-aback by this, unable to move away even after the music faded. The only enemy Akaashi knew he had was Shirabu—given Bokuto’s old job, he must have an entire list of people who wanted to harm him…but that was in the past. _Right?_ Akaashi asked himself, slightly concerned at Daishou’s comment. _Well…we both have skeletons in our closets. I’m sure people in the yakuza don’t envy our lifestyle at all…right?_

“But don’t worry about _me_ being your enemy! You know I’ll always have a thing for you, Akaashi, and if things don’t work out between you and your mystery man—”

“Once again, no thank you.”

Suguru snickered, letting Keiji push away from him and create some distance between them. The rest of their morning practice went smoothly, and Akaashi felt good to be dancing again, but he kept thinking back to what Daishou said. What had he meant by that comment about being envied? Did he really know that something big was happening with Bokuto just by looking at Akaashi? Why was he giving Keiji advice? Did he speak from experience? The ballerina wanted to ask, but he also didn’t want to make Suguru’s head even bigger than it already was. He accepted a lunch date with Konoha and picked his all-knowing brain about Daishou’s coded message.

“That is a little weird…but Suguru’s been after your ass for years, so I’m not surprised he’s jealous of your successful relationship,” Akinori shrugged, taking a sip of his smoothie.

“So I shouldn’t be concerned?” Akaashi worried.

“Concerned about what?”

“I don’t know…Daishou-kun spreading rumors, trying to break-up my romantic relationship? Ugh. Now that I say it out-loud it sounds stupid.”

“It is stupid.”

“Thanks, Konoha.”

“Suguru’s a dramatic snake, you know that,” He waved off. “I’ve been in a lot of failed relationships, so I know what I’m talking about when I say he’s just lamenting over his failed love life because he sees how happy yours is. Don’t worry about it.”

Akaashi knew Konoha was right. He usually was about these things, despite his own love life being sub-par for many years; simple matters such as this one just worked Keiji up more than usual. Between his injury, Tetsurou’s usual drama and the complicated situation with Bokuto, Akaashi’s nerves were at a high. There were so many things that could go wrong at this point in their relationship—they could have a huge fight about closet space, how to raise Tetsu, if they should buy a bigger car…there was also the strange activity going on in Bokuto’s _other_ life. That could lead to anything, and Akaashi feared what ‘anything’ entailed.

Luckily, Konoha had learned to understand this side of his best friend and knew exactly how to cure his unreasonable worries with amusing distractions.

“So Saruki spent the night at my house again,” He mentioned, fidgeting with his cup. Akaashi’s eyes were surprised when he glanced back up. “What? I can’t talk about my boyfriend, but you can talk about all of yours?”

“Your boyfriend?” Keiji repeated curiously. “You’re putting a name on it, for once?”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Well…I haven’t heard you refer to the person you’re sleeping with as your boyfriend in years. It’s interesting.”

Konoha slumped in his chair and pouted. He hated putting titles on relationships, but Saruki was just such an innocent dork it was so obvious that he had to be called a boyfriend; he was cuddly, considerate, selfless and loved eating in bed (not just food, either). Akinori wasn’t like his friend—he never really had a first love to hold onto for all these years, to reflect on and compare all his new relationships with. The ones he had actually considered boyfriends didn’t last longer than a month or so, and in the past few years Konoha’s sex life had slowed and strayed even further away from commitment. He gave the excuse that he was just busy running the boutique, which was true, but the old Akinori would have used all his free-time trying to get laid.

Was Konoha officially old? Did _Saruki_ think he was old and boring?

“You’re a very sassy, determined person, Konoha—Saruki-kun is laid-back and plays by the rules. Opposites attract. I think he’s a good match for you.”

 _“How can you be so in-tune with the feelings of others and yet be so ignorant of your own?”_ Akinori mocked in a high voice.

“I don’t sound like that.” Konoha stuck his tongue out in response, making Akaashi sigh. “There’s nothing wrong with calling Saruki your boyfriend, you know. It’s sweet.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about.”

“Explain.”

Konoha threw his head back and exhaled deeply, slumping down in his chair to think more clearly; how could he explain his inferior relationship to Keiji? The ballerina saw enough of their impromptu make-outs in Paris, so why did he want more details? Akinori was used to talking about Akaashi’s personal life, but when it came to his own, the boutique owner was completely lost. He didn’t like dissecting his feelings…unfortunately, his feelings towards Saruki were quickly becoming too strong to avoid.

“Saruki is sweet. _Too_ sweet. I taught him three new sex positions, convinced him to let me give him a blowjob in his car, and he responds by making me take dorky quizzes on his phone and looking through Pinterest recipes he thinks I would like.”

“So…you’re worried that his life experience doesn’t measure-up to yours?” Keiji asked.

“No, of course not!”

“I’m not following, Konoha.”

Akaashi actually was, but he wanted to pull some genuine emotion from Konoha and so lured him deeper into their conversation.

“Ugh! Just _listen_ , okay?”

“I am listening, but you’re not being completely honest with me.”

“I like Saruki, okay?!” Akinori exclaimed wildly, nearly knocking over his glass and attracting the attention of other customers at the café. “I thought he was super cute when we met ten-years ago, and I was happy to see him at Yukie’s wedding! I don’t want him to be nice to anyone else, because I like when he does nice things for _me_! He’s infuriatingly polite and respectful and _really_ _good_ at sex despite not knowing what half of my kink list is!”

“It sounds like you’re really happy with him,” Keiji examined innocently. “Do you enjoy his company?”

“Um, _yeah_!”

“Explain.”

Konoha was nearly ripping his hair out at this point, frustrated by his strong emotions and the unfamiliar sensation brewing in his chest whenever someone mentioned Saruki’s name.

“I just—I like being with him, okay?” Akinori admitted. “I like how he treats me…and how air-headed he can be…he’s actually really smart and bad-ass, and Komi says he’s one of his best subordinates. He’s also a great cook, which is great because I hate cooking, and he doesn’t get annoyed when I slurp my soup or put my cold feet on his legs when we sleep. Plus, he takes me for rides on his motorcycle. And, you know…other rides…”

“Do you _like_ motorcycles?” Akaashi asked.

“I used to think they were super irritating and loud only for the purpose of a guy trying to prove how big his dick was.”

“But you don’t think that anymore?”

“No, I do.” Konoha squirmed in his seat a little. “…I just found out how true it is, so I tolerate its nosiness a little more.”

Akaashi held his chuckle down, but he couldn’t stop the tiny smile creeping to his lips. Konoha peeked over at him and glared sharply, thinking he was being made fun of. He only liked being made fun of by Saruki, because he knew the friendly giant was too kind to be mean. Plus, teasing usually lead to other fun activities that were technically illegal in most countries…

“Don’t laugh at me, asshole. I’m being totally serious.”

“I’m not laughing at you—I’ve just never heard you speak so highly of someone,” Keiji smiled. “It’s cute. I’m really happy for you two.”

“Whatever…I doubt it’ll turn into anything serious. He’s probably just a gold-digger. He probably doesn’t consider me his boyfriend or anything,” Akinori shrugged, trying to play the situation off to retain some dignity. “It is what it is, I guess.”

“If _you’re_ already in this deep, I don’t think you should be doubting Saruki’s feelings.”

Konoha didn’t care to respond and avoided telling his friend he was right by returning to his smoothie. They sat in silence for a few minutes, both pondering over the advice given; Akaashi wasn’t aware that some of Komi’s soldiers (including Saruki himself) were stationed in their car just a few yards away, watching and observing to make sure the two were safe from harm.

“…So you really don’t think Suguru is planning anything?” Akaashi clarified one last time.

“Nah. He’s all talk and no balls.”

“You’re probably right. Even if he is being annoying, I’m glad to be back at the studio—sitting at home was getting boring.”

“ _Boring_?” Konoha stressed in surprise. “You mean Bokuto didn’t entertain you with various sex games and porno scenes he wants to act out?”

“Shut up.”

“That wasn’t a no!” He snickered.

“It _was_ a no,” Akaashi narrowed his eyes. “I meant that I’m glad my injury is finally healed. And I guess I’m glad you managed to find a boyfriend—that way you won’t be bugging me to get drunk every other night.”

“Yeah…I guess those fortunes and good luck charms really do work, huh?”

Konoha’s remark was innocent enough, as was Suguru’s, but they both put Akaashi deep in thought about fate and destiny for the rest of the day.

~~~*~~~

While his mother was having an internal crisis (again), Tetsurou was enjoying his evening by visiting an ice skating rink, accompanied by Bokuto. He wanted to have another fun day with his father again, and they decided to rent some skates and try their best at skating—the rink wasn’t very busy, given how cold it was outside, so there was plenty of room for them to slip and slide all over. Tetsu looked the part of a professional skater, wearing black pants, matching gloves, a cool red jacket and a pair of white skates, but Bokuto had a bad feeling that was the only resemblance Tetsurou would have to a professional. Apparently his son thought the same thing, because his excitement was beginning to wane the closer they shuffled to the actual rink.

“Uhh…maybe we should wait a few minutes,” Tetsu said hesitantly, tightly grasping his father’s arm.

“Come on, it’ll be fine! I won’t let you fall on your butt—promise!”

“Well…what if _you_ fall on your butt and take me with you?”

“I won’t drag you down with me, Tetsurou,” Bokuto chuckled, tugging him closer to the rink entrance. “Let’s go!”

Tetsu swallowed his nerves down and hesitantly followed his father, extra careful as he stepped onto the slippery ice with his skates; Bokuto held him steady, half-expecting his son’s legs to go opposite directions the second they hit the ice. They didn’t, but Tetsu’s stance wasn’t very sturdy as he meekly attempted to shuffle forward without really moving any of his body.

“Am I doing it?” He asked hopefully, not daring to look away from his feet.

“Almost! Why don’t you hold onto my arm, and I’ll skate you around for a few minutes just so you can get used to the feeling?”

“O-Okay…”

Tetsurou held on for dear life, legs tense as Bokuto pushed off and began skating them around the outside of the rink. The hitman had only been ice skating a few times before, the first time with the graceful Akaashi, so now wasn’t the time for anything fancy—right now, his son just needed to feel safe so he could gain enough confidence to try on his own. Tetsu’s little skates followed beside Bokuto’s, leaving hesitant trails on the wet ice underneath.

“Doing okay?” Bokuto asked with a smile, pulling him along.

“I think so…”

“You know who taught me how to ice skate?”

“Who?” Tetsu quirked curiously.

“Your mom!”

That finally got him to look up, though with more of a scrunched expression and not with interest like his father expected.

“…Did you just insult me by telling a _mom_ joke?” The boy questioned.

“Pft—no! Akaashi really did teach me how to stake! He’s really good, I can’t believe he hasn’t taken you before.”

“Well, we went when I was really young, but I can’t be expected to remember those skills.”

“Right.”

Tetsurou was slowly adding little strokes to his own steps, seeming to get a hang of the movements the longer they puttered around the edge of the rink. Other kids around Tetsu’s age were twirling around and speeding past, which probably bugged Tetsurou as much as it used to bother Koutarou when he was a kid. And when Akaashi beat him home in the car the other day. They were both a little competitive. Tetsu just needed some time to grow into his long, knobby legs—then he could win at everything, not just math competitions.

“Do you want to try on your own yet?” Bokuto asked encouragingly. “I think you’re getting the hang of it.”

“Umm…yeah. Yeah, I wanna do it!”

“Alright! When do you want me to let g—”

Before Koutarou could finish, Tetsurou took off in front of him, skating through a herd of people and emerging onto the center of the rink. Bokuto held his breath tensely, watching his son slowly start to gain speed and give a slight turn so he didn’t collide with another skater; Tetsu was still moving hesitantly, but he seemed to have more confidence in his movements than before, using the rink’s edge to steady his turn. Bokuto felt pride swell up in his chest as he watched Tetsurou cruise back in his direction, a bright grin lighting-up his features.

The hitman knew he had missed a lot of his son’s firsts. He missed his first laugh, his first steps, his first day of school, his first poopy diaper…but there were many other firsts Bokuto would get to see, now that Akaashi had agreed to let him move in. He was going to be there for Tetsurou’s first day of high school, his first school dance, his first calculus test, his first boyfriend or girlfriend—yeah. They had a lot to look forward to. Bokuto was over being afraid, and he didn’t want his family to be afraid, either. Shirabu’s tactics might have worked originally, but now, Koutarou was certain he wouldn’t let anyone (much less himself) hurt Akaashi or Tetsurou. And nothing bad was about to happen to him, either—he fought too hard, had clawed his way back into a good life to let things slip away now.

 _I guess we both feel a little stronger today_ , Bokuto thought, clapping his hands as Tetsu glided towards him. _And Shirabu thinks he’s going to take this away from us? Maybe when hell freezes over._

“I did it!” Tetsurou yelled as he skated by. “Didja see that, Daddy?! Didja see?!”

“You’re doing amazing, Tetsu!”

“I’m gonna try to go _really_ fast, okay?!”

“Alright, just be careful!” His father warned with a smile.

Tetsu shouted back a reassurance, skating around a group of people and pushing forward to increase his speed; he seemed to be having fun, even if he did look a little uncoordinated, but he hadn’t tripped yet, so Bokuto was considering today a win. He quickly snapped a few pictures on his phone to show Akaashi later (they both loved gushing over how cute Tetsurou was), even getting some of Tetsu grinning at the camera when he glanced back to wave, already halfway across the rink. Just as the boy raised his hand, however, the action was cut short by his body slamming into the wooden wall, face first, sending him backwards onto his butt.

“Oh _shit!”_

Bokuto frantically skated across the rink to where his son was collapsed in a hump, gloved hands covering his face as he struggled to sit up straight, head spinning from the collision. His father slid down onto his knees and held onto Tetsu’s back for support, desperately checking for any cuts or broken bones—Akaashi was going to kill him if something happened to Tetsurou’s “best features.” There was no dent in the wood from the impact, and Tetsu didn’t seem to be crying yet, but that didn’t make Koutarou’s heart rate slow down any.

“Tetsu! Are you hurt, is anything broken?!” The hitman asked worriedly. “Are you bleeding?! Let me see!”

Tetsurou slowly brought his hands away from his face, revealing a bright red nose and bloodied lips—but instead of crying, he was smiling and staring down at a small white object cradled in his gloves.

“Woohoo, sweet nuggets! My central incisor fell out!”

“More like got _knocked_ out!” Bokuto shrieked in panic. “Are you okay?! Are you in pain?!”

“Dad, _look_! It’s my tooth!”

“I see it, I see it! Can you stand? Let me help you up.”

Tetsurou was distracted from any source of pain he might have been feeling as his father pulled him back onto his feet, brushing the ice and snow off his pants as Tetsu marveled at the bloody object. He couldn’t answer any of his dad’s questions because he was so fascinated by his own anatomy, feeling around the gummy hole that remained while Bokuto checked him for other injuries. None of his other teeth seemed to be knocked loose, and his nose wasn’t broken, so Koutarou figured he had dodged a bullet today. Tetsu looked up at him (like he didn’t understand Bokuto’s terror) and gave a proud grin, showing off his new toothless smile which, combined with his split lip, made it look like he had gotten into a fist fight. Akaashi was not going to be impressed.

“Wow! This is the best day ever!”

“ _Really_?” Bokuto stressed, concerned that Tetsu might have a concussion. “The best day _ever_?”

“Mhm!” Tetsurou nodded excitedly, waving his trophy around. “This is the first tooth I’ve ever lost! Can you put it in your pocket so I can show Mommy later?”

“Umm…sure! Let me just...” The hitman awkwardly placed the tooth into a tissue and stuffed it into an empty pocket. “Alright…”

“Can we get some hot coco so I can get the taste of blood out of my mouth?”

“That might be the best idea you’ve had all day, buddy.”

After dropping off their skates Bokuto bought them two cups of steaming hot chocolate and sat down at a nearby bench so they could watch other families ice skate. Tetsurou kept touching the gums where his tooth had once been, wondering when the new one would start coming in and insisting his dad take a bunch of pictures so he could show Kenma. Koutarou, meanwhile, kept trying to check if his son had brain damage or had broken anything else before being swatted away so they could drink their coco. The rink lights were turned on, covering the area in a soft glow of yellow light that seemed to calm both parties down considerably.

“You really lost your cool back there, Dad,” Tetsu giggled, blowing quietly on his drink. “And I tell my friends _you’re_ the level-headed one.”

“Well excuse me, sir, I thought you had broken your nose or cracked your head open!”

“Be realistic, Bokuto-san.”

“That is realistic! You have _no_ idea how many things can go wrong when you ice skate,” Bokuto continued, pouting into his mug. “And be careful when you drink that—it’s still pretty hot. Don’t want you to burn your tongue. Or your gums.”

Tetsurou obeyed, carefully sipping at his coco and humming in contentment when the warm liquid soothed his irritated gum. They watched some families for a while, other dads teaching their children how to skate and play hockey; Tetsu was more interested in them than Bokuto was, intrigued by all the parents spending time with their sons just like they were doing. After a few minutes of peaceful silence, Tetsu said something interesting.

“I’m glad you worry about me.”

“Oh yeah?” Koutarou replied with a slight smile. “You like when I’m worried sick about you?”

“Yeah,” Tetsu nodded. “Some of my friends don’t have dads, and I didn’t have a dad until a while ago, so I feel lucky when you worry about me so much.”

The seven-year-old took a sip of his coco casually, as if he didn’t just crush Bokuto’s heart into a thousand pieces. The hitman wasn’t sure how to respond to such gratitude, and instead of reminiscing on his own lonely childhood, Koutarou decided on putting an arm around Tetsu’s shoulder and tugging him a little closer. No one was ever going to hurt this kid, Bokuto decided. Not Shirabu, not a girlfriend or boyfriend, none of his friends or co-workers, not a boss, not some robber or criminal. No one was going to taint Tetsurou’s innocence and make him hopeless like his own father had been. Shirabu could count on that. He had severely misinterpreted Bokuto Koutarou’s character, and he would pay the price.

“We’re both pretty lucky,” Bokuto smiled down at Tetsu. “Right?”

“You’re _totally_ right!”

“What do you say we get home and tell your mom all about our crazy evening?”

“Oh man, you’re going to be in sooo much trouble, Daddy!” Tetsurou giggled evilly.

“What?!” His father cried. “Why me?!”

“Because the skating rink was _your_ idea!”

“Was _not_!”

“Was so!”

“Was not!”

“Was so!”

The boys got home the same time as Akaashi did, and Tetsurou immediately went into vivid detail about their night at the ice skating rink, keeping Keiji in suspense about his missing tooth until he got to that part of the story. Akaashi didn’t seem horribly upset, just greatly concerned like Bokuto had been until Tetsu assured him he was feeling fine. The ballerina listened to them argue about whose fault it was, looked at the pictures Koutarou took before disaster struck and helped heat-up dinner before telling about his own day at the studio.

“And I met up with Konoha for lunch, and he told me that Saruki is his _boyfriend_ ,” Keiji informed them, getting a gasp from Tetsu. “I was just as shocked as you.”

“Wow…Saruki and Konoha. How come I didn’t think of that years ago?” Bokuto wondered.

“I guess they just needed that long to realize what they wanted was right in front of them.”

“Like me and these cheesy breadsticks!” Tetsurou quirked, getting a laugh from his parents.

“Yeah, just like you and the breadsticks…”

“So are he and Saruki moving in together?” The hitman asked. He was going to be pissed if Konoha tried to steal his thunder and ask Saruki to move in right when he was in the process of moving into Akaashi’s house…

“He wouldn’t give me much insight onto that topic, but from what I’ve seen I don’t think Saruki would be opposed to the idea at all,” Akaashi shrugged. “It’s just nice to see both of them finally settling down.”

“Yeah…it’s nice to see everyone copying our relationship,” Bokuto smirked, using one hand to pull Keiji closer to him. “We’re the _it_ couple, babe! They’re jealous of our love!”

“Daishou-kun says envy makes enemies.”

“Tch—that guy’s in no position to be giving life advice.”

When Keiji reached across the table to grab a napkin, Koutarou sent shivers up his spine by grabbing onto where his skin was peeking out from his shirt, squeezing his sides suggestively as Tetsurou tried to bite a piece of his breadstick off where he no longer had a central incisor.

“Kaaaashiiiiii,” Bokuto whined, nuzzling his head against the ballerina’s arm. He was trying to be cute and annoying, but instead he was getting Akaashi in the mood. “You’re supposed to make me feel welcome here!”

“And how do you propose I do that?” Keiji huffed, returning to his stool. Bokuto still didn’t release his waist, voice lowering an octave as he giggled into his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Hehe…I think you _know_ how.”

Akaashi was saved by his cell phone going off, and he swatted the hitman’s hands away so he could answer. That still didn’t stop Bokuto from squeezing his thigh under the island as he pulled Tetsu into a conversation about dinosaur teeth.

“Hey, Yaku-san…I’m good, thanks. …Oh?...is that so…okay…do you want to talk to him? …Sure. Here he is.” Akaashi covered the phone’s speaker and held it out towards Tetsurou. “Yaku-san wants to talk to you about something, Tetsu.”

“Huh? He wants to talk to _me_?”

“Yes. He wants to make you an offer.”

That captured Tetsu’s special attention, and he immediately dropped his breadstick to grab the phone and start chatting Yaku up. Bokuto gave Keiji a confused look as Tetsurou started humming and nodding at whatever Akaashi’s publicist was saying; his golden eyes got more excited as the conversation went on, and he began nodding so hard Bokuto thought he was going to nose-dive into his marinara sauce.

“Yes! I would love to do that!” Tetsurou cheered. “Does it matter that I just lost my first tooth? …Okay! Yeah! Let me ask Mommy real quick!”

“Ask him what?” Koutarou questioned, perplexed over what Yaku could possibly be asking him. “What’s going on?”

“Mom, can I do the modeling for the clothing place?” His son begged. “Pleeeeease?”

“I think that would be fun.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” Akaashi smiled. “If your father is okay with it.”

Tetsurou looked up at the hitman with wide, pleading eyes, lip pouting out as he put on an imploring expression that melted away any reservations Bokuto had about letting his child take part in the entertainment industry. And Tetsu hadn’t even spoken, yet. He really didn’t even need to, because Koutarou was already imagining how cute their son would be as a little clothing model…how did Akaashi ever say no? Maybe it was lucky that Bokuto wasn’t around the first seven-years, because Tetsu would definitely be even more spoiled than he already was.

“Dad—can I please be a supermodel for a day? _Please_? Keep in mind that I love you, and I’m a really nice kid!”

The hitman glanced between his boyfriend and son anxiously, silently wondering if he stood a chance against their beautiful faces and hopeful expressions. Even if he didn’t, Bokuto was just happy to be able to stare at them. This may have actually been, the best day ever, as Tetsurou said.

“…Okay,” Bokuto gave-in. “You can be a supermodel for a day. But I’m coming with to make sure they don’t put you in anything ugly!”

“Didja hear that, Yaku-san?!” Tetsu grinned happily, uncovering the phone. “They said yes! …Okay! Super! I’ll tell Mommy! Thanks, Yaku-san!”

Akaashi laughed quietly as his son tossed the cell phone down and started doing his weird dances, nearly launching himself off his stool with how violent his movements were. Koutarou was nearly falling out of his own seat from laughing so hard, and it was another ten-minutes of giggling before anyone could get a word out; Tetsurou was sweating profusely by that time, wiggling around in his seat as he thought about all the cool modeling poses he could try out.

“Yaku’s gonna give you the deets later!”

“Alright.”

“Sweet nuggets, this really _is_ the best day ever!” Tetsurou exclaimed. “First, Dad taught me how to skate, then I crashed into a wall and lost my tooth, and now I’m going to be a _model_!”

“I think that deserves a toast,” Bokuto said, motioning for the others to hold up their glasses. “To Tetsu—for losing his front tooth and landing a modeling job on the same day. Cheers!”

“Cheers.”

“Cheers…”

Tetsurou’s sudden drop of excitement was concerning, and Akaashi’s eyebrows furrowed as he glanced over at where his son now sat staring into his cup looking conflicted.

“What’s wrong, baby?” His mother asked gently. “Are you nervous already?”

“Oh…no, it’s not that. I was just remembering what my fortune said, about me having business trouble this year,” Tetsu recalled. “Do you think…it was talking about this? Do you think I’ll get fired from my first modeling job?”

Akaashi opened his mouth to contradict this thought, but found himself lost for words. How could he tell Tetsurou his fortune wouldn’t come true when Keiji really wasn’t certain his own curse wasn’t unraveling as they spoke? He wanted more than anything to tell Tetsu things would be okay, but as of late, he really wasn’t sure. Bokuto waited for his boyfriend to speak first, but when he saw how much Keiji was struggling he stepped in.

“Of course not, Tetsu! Not all fortunes come true, you know,” The hitman said. “I think you’ll be the best kid model there ever was. And the smartest, too!”

“You really think so?” Tetsurou asked hopefully.

“Duh!”

“I guess I’m being theatrical….I’ll probably rock the house!”

“Totally! Right, ‘Kaashi?” Bokuto nudged his boyfriend in the arm.

“…Right,” Akaashi gave a stalled nod. “You’ll do great, Tetsu.”

The rest of dinner was spent talking about the different poses Tetsurou already knew how to do, wondering what kind of outfits he would be wearing, if losing your front tooth would become a fashion trend, etc. etc. Akaashi seemed lost in a daydream, speaking scarcely and only snapping out of his funk when it was Tetsu’s bedtime; Koutarou was silently observing Akaashi’s sudden change in attitude as they got their son ready for bed. Keiji let his worries get the best of him, and the result was a zombie-like ballerina who acted nearly as airheaded as Bokuto. The hitman was intent on ridding his lover of whatever doubts he was contemplating and followed him into their bedroom once Tetsurou was asleep.

The house’s layout hadn’t changed much since Bokuto began moving his things in: he had his own walk-in closet, his own sink in the bathroom, a spot for his shoes in the entryway…if anything, the house seemed more like home than ever with the additional items scattered around. His jacket hung-up next to Akaashi’s, his motorcycle was parked in the garage and his car next to Keiji’s out front—to every family member, it felt as if Bokuto had lived there his entire life. Still, Akaashi considered whining about how many pillows his boyfriend needed on the bed just to distract himself.

 _Distract me from what?_ The ballerina wondered. _I shouldn’t still be worried about my unlucky fortune…those are so obviously just marketing scams. If anything, the only reason they ‘come true’ in rare cases is probably because of the placebo effect. Even knowing that, why am I still hung-up on it?_

 _Because it warned you about Bokuto leaving again_ , a voice reminded him. _And this time, for good._

_I’m only worried because Tetsurou’s feelings would be hurt. He would be heartbroken if Bokuto d—left us. I would be fine as long as I knew Tetsu was okay. I could rebound from him leaving again…right?_

“Alright, lover boy,” Koutarou rubbed his hands together as he entered the bedroom. “Are you in the mood for some fun?”

“I think it’s too late to go bowling, Kou.”

“Totally not what I meant. Well, bowling is fun, but I had a different fun in mind…”

“We just had fun three days ago,” Akaashi reminded him teasingly. “And last Thursday, and that Monday, and twice on the weekend…isn’t that enough fun?”

“Come on, ‘Kaashi!” The hitman whined. “I’ve been super good all week, I know your body probably needs some _special_ attention—didn’t you feel any of the sexy vibes I sent your way all evening?”

Receiving no definite answer, Bokuto took a gamble and let his fingertips tease Keiji’s sides, drifting up and down while he inched himself all the way up against the ballerina’s chest, giving him a soft peck that quickly turned into a deep kiss. At first Akaashi felt resistant, but it occurred to him that his favorite method of distraction was right in front of him. Nothing made him more stressed than procrastination, but Keiji was so tired from thinking about ridiculous possibilities he didn’t care to reason with himself. His hesitance had been felt by Bokuto, however, who separated them and spoke in a low, apprehensive tone.

“Hey—you okay?”

“Mhm. Just…worrying about bad fortunes and fate,” Keiji shrugged. “But I’m looking forward to giving you some _special attention_ , too.”

Before the hitman could address what Akaashi had said, the ballerina’s slender arms wrapped around his broad shoulders and pulled him even closer; their lips smashed together another second later, and Bokuto found himself being pushed onto the edge of the bed. Keiji took his rightful place on Koutarou’s lap and continued to kiss his awaiting lips until they were both nearly out of breath.

“Can you be quiet?” Akaashi whispered against his mouth.

“Maybe…”

Keiji gave a small smile and tugged his boyfriend into the middle of the bed, hardly giving Bokuto a break before he began stripping off his own clothes, hoping the hitman would follow suit. He really, _really_ wanted to, but suddenly found himself frozen as Akaashi quickly became nude and took the opportunity to start undressing Koutarou. All the ballerina’s worries hid for an hour, thoroughly distracted by Bokuto’s thick ab muscles contracting and twitching when Keiji ran his fingers over them; he wanted to feel them against him, straining and damp with sweat as his body rocked over Akaashi’s…

Yeah. Bokuto Koutarou was definitely the best distraction. Bowling was a close second.

“Lay down, Bokuto-san.”

Still not able to speak for reasons unknown to him, Koutarou obeyed, scooting towards the center of the mattress and letting Keiji slide his jeans and briefs off. His arms lay limply on the bed, blood circulating to a different portion of his body when Akaashi, wasting absolutely no time, took his boyfriend’s cock in his hand and began dabbing it with little kitten licks. That quickly evolved into harsh sucks, as if Keiji was trying to leave hickies on Bokuto’s dick to leave his mark. Of course everything felt amazing, and the hitman had no problem becoming aroused when Akaashi was looking so perfect and treating him so well, but…

What was wrong with him? Bokuto couldn’t seem to break free from his own mind, trapped in a void even as Akaashi’s sultry lips became locked around his cock like he was starving. Fate. Fate was on his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about Keiji, his behavior whenever someone mentioned fortunes, his obvious distress at his own even though they had disregarded its daunting message. Had he been worrying himself sick over this since New Year’s? Judging on the method Akaashi was using to distract himself now, Bokuto guessed he was.

So what did that make him?

“I wanna ride you,” Keiji said, licking his lips and digging his nails into Bokuto’s thighs mischievously. “But we have to be quiet, okay?”

 _I’ve been so focused I never stopped to realize just how anxious Akaashi’s been feeling about this entire situation_ , the hitman thought, head starting to ache uncomfortably. _It’s still difficult for him to completely trust me, even though he thinks he does. Keiji doesn’t know Shirabu is the one who’s trying to hire me, who wants him and Tetsurou dead—deep down, he must know something’s off. That’s why he’s so uneasy, so worried lately…_

_And he doesn’t know the half of it._

Bokuto wasn’t a fool. He wasn’t above being afraid, or weighing unreasonable options—but his trained instincts were still ever-present, even though he was transitioning into becoming a full-time father. It was in his nature to hide, to shield his emotions, to keep secrets; but seeing Akaashi so silently agitated and concerned affected Koutarou more than enough. Those refined hitman instincts of his began failing, shields crumbling down like ancient walls—fear couldn’t have intimidated Bokuto’s instincts so easily. It had to be something else entirely.

Fear made Bokuto freeze, but guilt was the single factor that utterly paralyzed him.

“Bokuto-san?” Lithe fingertips tapped at Koutarou’s shoulder. “Hey.”

The hitman tore his eyes off the ceiling and finally saw Akaashi sitting on top of him, cheeks bright pink and lips looking nothing short of sinful, but his eyes were serious, wondering. It reminded Bokuto of when they were young and just starting out together, before Keiji knew about all his mood swings—Bokuto used to get that look a lot, and while it used to make him feel validated, all he felt now was more guilt.

“Is something wrong?” The ballerina asked. “You look…like you’re in pain. Is everything okay?”

“Oh…no.”

“No you’re not in pain, or no everything isn’t okay?”

Unable to come up with a reply, Bokuto sat up on his hands and slowly buried his face in Akaashi’s chest, using one arm to hold him as close as possible. He couldn’t go on like this. Hadn’t he sworn when they started dating again that there would be no more lies between them? It wasn’t like he _wanted_ to keep this from Akaashi…but did he really have any other choice? Akaashi would _freak_ if he heard that Shirabu was after him and his son. Then again, he would also freak if he discovered all that Bokuto had been hiding.

 _What’s worse?_ Koutarou wondered, emptiness and dread filling his heart. _Betraying Akaashi by keeping him in the dark, or betraying him by revealing how much danger we’re all in?_

“Kou, you’re scaring me,” Keiji said, pushing Bokuto back so he could hold his face. “What’s wrong?”

Bokuto didn’t think he had ever felt this pressured before, staring up into his lover’s dark blue eyes looking at him with such concern. Akaashi really did want to know what was bothering the hitman—that much was obvious through his furrowed brow and gentle hands ensuring Koutarou couldn’t look away from him. Bokuto couldn’t do it. He couldn’t keep lying, but he also knew he couldn’t let that bad fortune come true. He had known that for a long time, denying the fact by ignoring it all together. He wouldn’t let Akaashi be intimidated by Shirabu’s threats. He wouldn’t betray Akaashi by _not_ telling him, either.

So what was Bokuto to do?

“Listen…we said no more secrets, right?” Akaashi nodded slowly in response. “Okay. Then can I tell you something? Something that will make you worry even more than usual?”

Keiji thought for a moment, then gave another nod without taking his eyes off Bokuto.

“Yes, please,” He whispered.

This was it—Koutarou was finally going to reveal all his dirty secrets, tell him everything that had happened since they got back together, about the cameraman, the strange cars, Shirabu’s horrible plan for them…he had to tell him. It was going to cost him a lot, but Bokuto was certain he was going to say _something_.

“…I think the guy who wants to hire me might want me dead,” The hitman admitted.

_Idiot! You’re so close, just say it!_

While what Bokuto said wasn’t technically a lie, it was still far from the truth. When had it become so difficult for him to talk to Akaashi? Koutarou was mentally kicking himself as Keiji’s expression darkened, lips tightening as he contemplated these circumstances: there was always some sense of fear reguarding Bokuto’s last profession, but the ballerina thought after so many years old grudges would be forgotten. The idea of someone seeking revenge on his beloved boyfriend who had already served time for something he didn’t even do was unimaginable, not to mention, frightening, and that stupid, unlucky curse echoed through Keiji’s brain.

“He… _why_?” Akaashi stressed, eyebrows scrunching together in concern. “Why would he want you dead? Do you know him from before?”

_Ah. So this is why. I can’t bear to see him terrified and hiding._

“No…but I guess you could say he has a grudge,” Bokuto continued, throat becoming more dry the longer he spoke. “It’s like what Suguru said about envy: he’s jealous that I got out of the hitman life and he can’t. I think he’s going to try and take me out when I tell him I’m not doing any jobs for him, or for anyone else. I just…thought I should tell you.”

Akaashi was obviously thinking very deeply. Bokuto searched his eyes for any sign that he might be onto him, and when he found nothing but frustration and sorrow, the guilt weighing heavy in his chest only strengthened. Of course Akaashi believed him—why wouldn’t he?

“Why can’t they just leave you alone?” Keiji whispered, laying his forehead against Koutarou’s. “Why can’t they leave us all alone…what did we ever do to them?”

Despite the heaviness of his heart, Koutarou tried to lessen his guilt by kissing Akaashi’s cheek and hugging him close, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to look Keiji in the eyes and lie again.

“I don’t know,” The hitman replied lowly. “But I’m not going to let them take me away from you, from Tetsu.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Akaashi confessed, trying hard to hold his tears in as he squeezed Bokuto even tighter. “I know you’ll do _anything_ to protect what we have, a-and I just…I don’t want…”  
“Hey, hey…everything’s going to be okay. Nobody’s going to hurt us, and I’m going to come back to you like I always do. Okay, ‘Kaashi?”

Pulling back, Koutarou could see that Akaashi didn’t believe his promise. Of all the things to _not_ fall for, it was this. And Bokuto knew he had to keep it that way. The hitman grabbed Keiji’s head and pushed their mouths together, at the same time lining himself up with the ballerina’s hole and sliding in, getting a dramatic gasp from Akaashi when he suddenly found himself being filled to the brim. Reason began quickly slipping away, but Bokuto kept them both grounded by firmly talking into his boyfriend’s ear.

“I won’t let _anyone_ take me away from you,” He promised (to the both of them). “Understand?”

“Prove it,” Keiji demanded through a sharp breath. “Prove it to me.”

Since Bokuto couldn’t give Akaashi the truth, he obeyed this command without needing any more encouragement. Both men contained their groans and whimpers as well as they could when Bokuto began thrusting upwards, cradling Keiji as intimately as possible; their worries and concerns gradually faded away, pushed aside in favor of forcing attention on their current ministrations. For right now, this would do—Akaashi felt safe in Koutarou’s arms, happy to let his guard down and momentarily forget everything in the world aside from his lover. He had always depended on Bokuto for that. Despite their troubled history, the heartbreak and years apart, Keiji was forever grateful for the hitman’s ability to ground him, to make him take a breather and let his stress out.

Bokuto slammed upward in a comfortable, yet frantic rhythm, battering Akaashi’s insides as if he could fuck the doubts from his body. There was something desperate about their kisses and sloppy touches, and while they had experienced such a sexual endeavor like this previously, both men could _feel_ the difference in their performance that was unlike anything before. They ignored it, however, clinging to each other with all their hearts and doing their very best at heightening their pleasure.

It was never said out-loud, but Bokuto was certain they were loving each other like there was a chance it would be the very last time.

~~~*~~~

Bokuto Koutarou had gotten a taste of Shirabu Kenjiro, Shiratorizawa’s second-in-command and ex-husband of his precious ballerina boyfriend. He had been offered a high position, money, a chance to reinstate his name throughout the yakuza world and, most of all, power. Things would become complicated for the other yakuza groups in Japan, especially Komi and Fukurodani—they would definitely be ridiculed for their cowardly actions towards Bokuto years before and would essentially become powerless, given how much information their ex-hitman had on them.

Luckily for Fukurodani, Koutarou did not want to destroy his oath brother’s legacy, nor was he interested in getting revenge on their clan’s previous bosses. That ship had sailed. Now, the only agenda on Bokuto’s mind was to rid the world of Shirabu, _without_ killing him, before he lived-out his own revenge fantasy against Akaashi and Tetsurou.

Shirabu used intimidation to inflict fear; he used arrogance to give the appearance of invincibility, and once a person of use reached their limit, Kenjiro eliminated them. Kenji Futakuchi was dead, and all the evidence that Shirabu sent someone to stalk his ex had been destroyed as well, save for the few photographs Bokuto kept hidden. Komi had discovered that even the cameraman was nowhere to be found, most likely disposed of in a more secretive manner than Kenji. If Komi wanted to arrange a meeting with Shiratorizawa’s actual boss, Ushijima, they were going to need solid evidence backing-up their claims about Shirabu’s secret plan.

But they didn’t have that kind of time. Bokuto’s deadline was up, and today he was meeting with Shirabu at the warehouse to give his answer. The outcome of this dangerous situation depended on how this conversation went, depended on what Kenjiro’s reaction would be—Koutarou could be killed immediately. He could be excused by a cold smile, only to return home and find Akaashi and their son gone. Maybe Shiratorizawa’s clan leader had heard of Shirabu’s deception and would barge in. At this point, anything was possible.

A dark-haired subordinate greeted Bokuto at the door and led him to Shirabu’s office, stiff and silent as they walked up the stairs together; he seemed stronger than the other men Shirabu had on-guard, tall, quick, serious, a dangerous glimmer shining in his eyes. Of course, his intimidating aura was ruined by his dorky hair, fringe bangs longer on the sides with a little tuft sticking out at the very top of his head.

“Is it part of your initiation to cut your hair like that?” Koutarou teased.

“…No. I just like it,” The soldier answered, eyes narrowing. “Keep up.”

“You seem more experienced than the other guys around here—it’s good that he keeps you so close.” No reply. Bokuto had to say something that would trigger a reaction. “Are you good friends with your boss?”

“Of course!” He nodded certainly, eyes glowing with pride.

“Really? That must be something.”

“I’ve been training with him for years! He’s loyal, strong, fair, _and_ he knows accounting! Shiratorizawa is lucky he stepped up after the heirs died—we needed a good businessman, but also someone with presence. He’s going to take Shiratorizawa back to the top, and I’m going to help in any way I can!”

Bokuto smiled at his enthusiasm and obvious admiration, but he was mostly smiling because he could tell this soldier hadn’t been thinking of Shirabu as he spoke. He was thinking of their _real_ boss, Shiratorizawa’s new clan leader, Ushijima Wakatoshi.

“Hmm…that doesn’t sound like the Shirabu I know,” The hitman said thoughtfully. “But I guess you know him better than I do.”

The other man seemed to realize his mistake, then, skin paling as he hurriedly turned away and continued stomping up the stairs; it was important for Bokuto to discover that this guard didn’t see Shirabu as his actual boss. That told him there was definite room for defiance. Given how poorly Shirabu treated everyone around him, Koutarou guessed this man wasn’t the only person within their clan who had been tricked or manipulated into keeping Shirabu’s shenanigans a secret from their leader. Like Bokuto, they might have been promised more power or money in exchange for defiance against Ushijima.

Komi once told his friend that the only way to ensure absolute loyalty was to treat subordinates as if they were your little brother: beat them up from time to time to make sure they know their place, but be there for them when things go wrong. Shirabu probably followed that advice, but without executing the latter half, which happened to be the most important.

“What’s your name, again?” Bokuto questioned, despite knowing the younger man was desperately trying to avoid any further conversation.

“…Goshiki.”

“Well, Goshiki-chan, I think your boss would be happy to hear you speak so highly of him. He sounds like a good guy—anyone would be proud to work for him, do whatever it takes to make sure his reputation stays clean. I may not be a yakuza anymore, but I bet you anything he’s very happy to have subordinates like you to fight for his honor.”

Goshiki didn’t reply, but Bokuto could tell by the stiffness of his posture that he hit a nerve somewhere. They made it to the long hallway where Shirabu’s office was, and before Goshiki could turn the knob, Koutarou got one more guilt-trip in.

“It does make me wonder about something, Goshiki.”

“About what?”

“How your boss would react if he knew what you were helping Shirabu do.”

That got a fiery reaction from Goshiki, who shot a glare Bokuto’s way and pouted out his lips.

“For your information, you haven’t been in the game for over seven-years—things have changed. You don’t gain respect now the same ways you did back then,” Goshiki snapped. “Shirabu-san and I are working together to show Ushijima-sama that he can depend on us for strength.”

“Is that what bitch-bangs boy told you?” Koutarou scoffed. “Do you _honestly_ think Ushijima would approve of you going rogue and hiring a disgraced hitman from Fukurodani to slaughter a mother and his son? Is that how your boss operates?”

Just as quickly as Goshiki’s confidence came, it evaporated, expression tightening in serious thought; the answer was obvious, but the young soldier didn’t want to admit it. He reminded Bokuto of himself, when he first joined the Fukurodani clan and thought everyone wanted to help him succeed. Koutarou really didn’t want to see this kid end-up dead if he continued following Shirabu’s orders, but there wasn’t enough time in the world to make Goshiki realize how big of a mistake he was making. Maybe Bokuto was just telling him these things because he wanted to at least say he tried.

“If he does approve of your little scheme, well…I don’t think that’s the kind of person I’d want to be loyal to,” Bokuto shrugged. “But I guess it’s up to you, Goshiki-chan.”

Koutarou helped turn the doorknob and pulled Goshiki back to reality, and they entered the office together, seeing Shirabu waiting at his desk; he gave Bokuto a dark smile, sitting up straighter as the hitman gave a short bow in his direction.

“Good to see you again so soon, Bokuto-san,” Shirabu said without sincerity. “Please, take a seat.”

“I’m okay standing, thanks.” _As if I’d let my guard down!_

“Out, Goshiki.”

“…But Shirabu-san, you—”

“Did I stutter?” Shirabu shot him an irritated glare. “Get lost before I make you.”

Goshiki stood behind Bokuto for only a second longer before exiting the room, closing the door quietly behind him. That was actually for the best—at least now Koutarou didn’t have to be worried about someone popping him from behind. Instead, all he had to worry about was how many weapons Shirabu probably had stashed within his desk and how quickly he could disarm him if things _really_ got ugly…despite the lingering possibilities that were guaranteed to result in violence, Bokuto felt rather calm. Before he left home, the hitman had hugged Tetsurou, kissed Akaashi and made sure a few of Komi’s men were still stationed at the street corner.

Koutarou had decided he was going to settle this without his boyfriend’s knowledge. Shirabu would never get the chance to speak to Akaashi ever again, and once he realized that, things would get messy. This was the calm before the storm.

“I must say, I consider myself lucky to have secured your proficient abilities, Bokuto-san,” Shirabu began. It must have pained him to pay compliments to the man that was fucking his ex-husband, but he managed only because of the horrible things he planned on doing for revenge. “Fukurodani most definitely lost their star. I’ll never understand the methods old yakuza leaders used…I guess it’s all for that retirement money. They’ll do anything to try and leave a legacy—I can think of more efficient, impressive ways to do so, but I suppose we should leave the past in the past.”

 _He has no idea what’s coming_ , Shirabu thought secretly, watching Bokuto’s blank expression most carefully. _I won’t be satisfied until he witnesses Keiji writhing around on the cold floor, ruined and used beyond comprehension…until Bokuto Koutarou sees him like that, I will feel no satisfaction. And that’s what makes it all the more entertaining, isn’t it? He’s going to wake-up one morning, believing himself to be reinstated into the yakuza world, only to find himself locked away in our warehouse watching his bastard son and whore of a boyfriend be destroyed._

_I can hardly wait._

“I have all the details settled, so you mustn’t worry about those. I also have weapons available, unless you decide to use your own, but I should inform you that I prefer if they’re shot. We have to make it look like a murder-suicide, after all.”

_What will he cry out, I wonder? Will he scream and curse? How long will it take until he becomes completely unintelligible, empty as tears stream down his face? It shouldn’t take too long. Seeing his son’s brains splattered all over the floor should do the trick, if seeing his precious Keiji beaten and naked isn’t enough._

“A smaller gun would be best, a common type you can purchase for protection. Not to tell you how to do your job, but you could even hide some painkillers around the house so the police suspect a mental breakdow—”

“I’m afraid I won’t be doing any jobs for you, Shirabu-san.”

Koutarou watched calmly, slowly seeing blood begin to rise in Kenjiro’s face as the words died in his throat, struck absolutely silent by what he thought he just heard. The hitman maintained his straight posture, ready to defend himself against bullets or a blade when reality finally hit Shirabu, who was still staring at him incredulously.

“…I—I beg your pardon, Bokuto-san?”

“Well, you _could_ beg, but I’ll be polite and just tell you,” Bokuto carried on. “I’m declining your offer to take out Akaashi Keiji and his son. I’ve decided to stay out of the hitman game and fully immerse myself in Tokyo’s modern society.”

Ah—there it was. Like a true psycho, Shirabu could not hide his fury, his extreme shock at being rejected by Bokuto when the offer had been unmistakably flawless. He abruptly stood from his seat, chair crashing into the floor below as the anger overwhelmed him: Koutarou had seen a lot of unhappy yakuza before, but this was by far the most explosive display. Shirabu was _seething_ , his hands were shaking, his mouth torn between hovering open and tightening shut, and while he had yet to pull out a weapon, it was obvious that he wanted to. He would have even used a sharp pen or a nearby book, had his mind not been wiped from shock.

The plan, Shirabu’s masterplan of horrible, irreversible revenge against his deceitful ex, had been corrupted.

“You are making an _unmeasurable_ mistake, Bokuto Koutarou,” He hissed darkly, eyes wide with rage. “For your own sake, I suggest you reconsider.”

“I don’t need to be _commanded_ into thought,” Bokuto spat back, letting a piece of his own irritation show. “I’ve considered all my options, and this is my final decision.”

Shirabu was lost for words. All he could do was stare at Koutarou as the hitman slowly backed towards the door, not stupid enough to turn his back. He had triggered the war himself, and now more than ever, Bokuto needed to be vigilant and prepared; the atmosphere was set, worse than any disagreement or problem Koutarou faced during his time as a yakuza, but before either side made their first move, he wanted to end Shirabu’s reign of confidence.

“Good luck, Shirabu-san.”

“Good luck with _what_?” Kenjiro spat. “Taking Akaashi and your bastard child out myself?”

Bokuto heard the other man take a short step back when he was assaulted by a dark, purely sinister look from Fukurodani’s hitman.

“Good luck to whatever hitman you end-up hiring.”

~~~*~~~

On that same night, Akaashi Keiji had struggled his way through a long showing of _The Nutcracker_ , battling fatigue and his previous ankle injury while dealing with Suguru’s bullshit all day during rehearsals. To make matters worse, the ballerina had an upset stomach that started with his morning coffee, and he went the entire day without eating much of anything; he survived, but it was needless to say Akaashi was exhausted by the time he left with Konoha around ten p.m.

“Well that was a disaster,” Keiji exhaled deeply when he slid into the driver’s seat.

“Eh? I thought it was fine. Your usual standing-ovation and a hundred red roses launched like used bras at a rock concert.”

“I haven’t eaten all day…”

“What?!” That got an animated reaction from Konoha, because if he remembered anything about the dance lifestyle, it was that you never went on with an empty stomach. “Are you _crazy_ , Akaashi?”

“My stomach was upset—I didn’t want to get sick,” His friend reasoned, pulling out of the parking lot.

“Well, I can’t let you starve any longer. Pull into a gas station and I’ll buy you the upset stomach essentials: onigiri, green tea and cigarettes.”

“I don’t think cigarettes fit into that category.”

“Those are for me. _Duh_ ,” Akinori snickered.

Akaashi really just wanted to go home and relieve Kaori from her babysitting duties, but he was too tired to argue and pulled into the next gas station he saw. While Konoha was inside buying who knows what, Keiji let his aching head lean against the cool leather of the steering wheel; it was a miracle he had made it through the show without passing-out. Between the bright lights, sparkling makeup and spinning dance moves…yeah. Akaashi was ready to pop a sleeping pill and not be disturbed for the next eight-hours. The ballerina didn’t understand how he could be feeling so ill—his diet hadn’t changed, Tetsurou hadn’t been terribly loud lately, and although his stress level was a bit higher than usual, Keiji didn’t think he could give any credit to his mood.

 _Maybe Bokuto will be home when I get there_ , Akaashi thought, rubbing his stomach in hopes it would settle down soon. _He loves taking care of me when I’m not feeling well. He probably would have doted on me like a maid if he was around when I was pregnant with Tetsu—Shirabu didn’t care if I felt sick or not. I wish Bokuto had been there…_

Konoha was in and out of the gas station in just few minutes, but as he made his way outside, he nearly ran right into Akaashi himself, who was hurriedly heading towards the building’s front door.

“Woah—where are you going?”

“I need to buy something.”

The boutique owner didn’t get another word out, watching Keiji hurry inside and disappear into an aisle somewhere. Konoha returned to the car and waited, sneaking a sip of the tea he bought for his friend after a boring five-minutes passed; maybe the ballerina was throwing-up. Akaashi didn’t usually get sick (he made sure his lifestyle was very nourishing as to maintain his son’s own good health), but it was possible he had caught some kind of virus. Akinori was just about to step outside and light a cigarette when Akaashi finally returned, head down and hands stuffed deep in his pockets. He gave no explanation as he sat down in the driver’s seat, making no move to drive the car.

“What’s going on? Did you throw up or something?”

For another long moment, Keiji didn’t respond—then he finally realized that Akinori had spoken and slowly glanced over, giving him a solemn, wide-eyed look.

“…Don’t look at me like that, Akaashi,” Konoha mumbled, immediately uncomfortable. “You know I get awkward during serious momen—”

When Konoha glanced back up, he saw Akaashi pull out a used pregnancy test from his pocket—he flashed back to the pregnancy scare his friend had a while back, only this time, the blue lines were replaced with an unmistakable pink plus sign. A positive sign. Keiji’s shocked expression didn’t change, even when Konoha’s own mouth dropped open dramatically.

“Shit…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MEMBER WHEN AKKASHI WASN'T PREGNANT BUT NOW HE IS, PSYCH
> 
> anywhoo, a lame ass chapter before the bigger storm; bigger storm will not come until early November, as i have two Haikyuu Halloween oneshots to write. i NEVER miss haikyuu halloween. just ask trans hooter waitress akaashi from last's years fic.  
> Thanks for so many lovely comments and over 4k hits!!! i hope all 100 of you subscribers are GETTING PUMPED


	11. "in my dreams"

_“Please, just once more_

_If I could see you again_

_I don’t care if I lose my everything_

_I wish I could meet you in my dreams_

_And love you again”_

By the time Bokuto got home that night, Akaashi had already fallen asleep, and between the rush of the morning they didn’t have time to talk—Tetsu had school, Keiji needed to help Konoha at the boutique (aka discuss how excitedly anxious he was to tell Bokuto about his pregnancy), and the hitman himself was busy making sure Komi’s men were stationed around the area all day long. He wasn’t about to take any chances, and while Komi did more research on Shirabu, Akaashi chatted with Konoha, and Koutarou was readying his own hidden weapon: himself.

In the midst of all this drama, Tetsurou was having his usual fun day at school, acing his spelling test and preparing for an up-coming science fair. Lately, the boy’s favorite subject had been art, because they were drawing and creating things for people they loved; today’s project was origami, and Tetsu was on his fifth attempt at making a complicated owl shape out of paper. All the other kids were making Pikachu or cranes for their siblings and mothers, but Tetsurou wanted to go all out with his origami to impress his father.

“What are you making, Tetsu-chan?” Kiyoko asked him, coming over to her friend’s desk.

“It’s supposed to be an owl,” Tetsurou answered, frowning at his fifth failed attempt. “Dang…this one didn’t work out either.”

“Why don’t you just make a Pokémon like Kenma did?”

“Well, my dad really likes owls, so I wanted to make this for him!”

Tetsurou really wanted to show his father how happy he was that they were all together again—it wasn’t like him to think negatively, but part of him wanted to keep giving Bokuto-san gifts in hopes that it would make him realize they needed to stay with each other forever. No one was allowed to leave again, not when they were all so happy! Tetsu wanted to show the fish fryer just how awesome they were, _together_ , as a family. Kiyoko watched Tetsu struggle with his crumpled paper for a few more entertaining minutes before he finally gave her a sheepish look and asked for help. It took them a while, but they finally managed to fold together a cute little navy blue owl; Kenma and Taketora thought it was super cool, and Tetsu was so excited he brought it out to recess to show Terushima.

“Wow, that is _dope_!”

“I know, right?! Kiyoko-chan helped me make it.”

“You get to have art class with Kiyoko-chan?” Terushima said in amazement. “Dude, I’m so jealous…”

“I’m going to give it to my dad when I get home,” Tetsu smiled proudly, holding the owl up with his mittens. “I bet he’ll be so happy!”

“Whatcha got there, Tetsu-kun?”

The excited atmosphere dropped significantly as Tetsu, Terushima and Kenma were approached by one of their least favorite classmates, the “fake blonde” as Shima called him, Atsumu. He was always budding in on their conversations with his snide remarks and bragging about having a twin brother, as if having two of him in the world was cause for celebration (that was how Tetsu’s mom put it). Kenma instinctively shrunk behind his friends, who narrowed their eyes and prepared to argue. First graders were always ready to argue.

“What is it? Some kind of ugly dinosaur?” Atsumu laughed, snatching the paper owl from Tetsurou’s grip.

“If you don’t know an owl when you see one, Atsu _moo_ , you shouldn’t be in the same grade as us,” Tetsu tried to say as politely as possible, frowning at the taller boy.

“I know what an owl is, and this isn’t it. Maybe your mom will think it’s an ugly crow.”

Tetsu lunged his arm forward to try and snatch the precious object back, but Atsumu held it up and away, giving him a nasty smile. Terushima had a dangerous look on his face, and Kenma was still hiding, hoping the argument would just go away—but Tetsurou wanted his owl back. He tried to remember what his mom always said about never resorting to violence, which was easy for him, but Terushima was easily triggered into wrestling matches.

“Give it back, Atsumu,” Tetsu demanded. “That’s for my dad!”

“Like he’d want this crumpled piece of paper,” Atsumu joked, waving the owl around. “You don’t _have_ a dad, anyway.”

“I do so!” Tetsurou snapped back angrily. “His name’s Bokuto-san, and he’s the best dad ever!”

“Your dad the _fish fryer_?”

“That’s right!” Terushima defended his friend. “He wears expensive suits, and he could kick your dad’s royal butt!”

“ _Yeah!_ ”

“If your dad is so cool, I better do him a favor and get rid of this _paper bag_.”

Before any of the boys could stop him, Atsumu took the origami owl and crushed it between his gloves, destroying the perfect bird shape Tetsu and Kiyoko had worked so hard to create, leaving nothing but a bundle of crumpled paper. Tetsurou could only watch as Atsumu let the creature drop into the wet snow pile below, letting all his dreams fall with it. Kenma’s mouth fell open in horror, as did the mouths of their other classmates in the vicinity, and Terushima’s eyes lit up with fire.

“You _jerk_!”

Within a second, Atsumu was tackled to the ground by Terushima, both of them falling right into a pile of snow as they began rolling around swatting and trying to pin the other down. Tetsu bolted forward to try and peel his friend off, and within the next hour, all three of them were sitting in the principal’s office, clothes a mess, hair wet, bumps and bruises covering Terushima and Atsumu’s arms. There hadn’t been any punches thrown, but all three boys knew they were in deep trouble when the principal decided to call their parents.

Shima and Atsumu were still irritated from the earlier fight, glaring at each other from across the hall and sticking their tongues out when the principal wasn’t looking; Tetsu, however, was more upset than mad, still holding the destroyed origami owl in his hands as he waited for his mom to arrive. He had been so excited to give it to Bokuto-san, and now he had nothing but a wet pile of torn blue paper. How lame.

 _Maybe Atsumu was right_ , Tetsurou thought, running his finger over the drying paper. _Origami is a lame gift. Dad probably wouldn’t have liked it, anyway…maybe he did do me a favor._

“Tetsu?”

The boy didn’t look up when he heard his mother’s voice, sulking over his owl as Akaashi took a seat beside him on the bench outside the main office. He didn’t say anything for a minute, softly wiping a spot of dirt from Tetsurou’s cheek and doing a once-over to make sure he wasn’t hurt. The principal had told him what happened over the phone, how Tetsu had tried to stop the fight from getting _too_ violent only to get pulled into the scuffle himself; Keiji wasn’t mad at his son or preparing to ground him. Despite not being suspended or punished, the seven-year-old seemed extremely upset, and it wasn’t because of getting in mild trouble.

“Wanna tell me what happened, baby?” Akaashi prompted gently.

Without lifting his head, Tetsu held up the mash of wet blue paper so his mother could see.

“We made origami in art class today,” Tetsurou began sadly. “Kiyoko helped me make an owl…I was going to give it to daddy…”

“Then what happened?”

“Atsumu was teasing me, and he crushed my owl and threw it on the ground. Shima-chan tackled him into a snow pile—I tried to break them up, but then Atsumu pulled me down and I got all wet…”

“Ah. I see.”

“But…Atsumu-kun said he would have hated it, so I guess it’s good that he wrecked it,” Tetsu murmured, covering the paper up so he could no longer see its disgraceful shape.

“Well, has Atsumu ever met Bokuto-san?” Keiji asked.

“…No.”

“Then how would he know if your dad hated it?”

Tetsurou knew his mom was making a good point, but he just couldn’t forget what Atsumu said about his crappy gift. Akaashi took the crumpled paper and held it in his own hands, trying to see what the shape would have looked like in all its glory; no doubt Bokuto would be thrilled to receive even this damp, wrinkled gift. He loved anything Tetsu made him, hung up every picture he ever colored or drew on the fridge even when they had no room left. He was a great dad like that…Akaashi couldn’t wait to see how territorial the loves of his life would be when they heard that there would be another addition to their family. But that would have to be put off until later—Keiji knew how easily persuaded children were, even by the silliest, most trivial matters, and set out to remind Tetsurou to keep his head up.

“I bet Bokuto-san would love this gift just as it is.”

“Be _real_ , Mom—it’s destroyed!” Tetsu pointed out.

“It is. But just the fact that you took the time to make your father something would mean a lot to him. I know it would.”

“Whatever…”

Akaashi really couldn’t be too upset with Tetsu. He hadn’t hurt anyone, hadn’t “went ham” on Atsumu even though he deserved it, which was a good sign for the future; hopefully the long absence of his father hadn’t developed a more ferocious, volatile side of Tetsu hiding inside. Akaashi smiled and leaned down to plant a big kiss on his son’s cheek, laughing lowly when Tetsurou tried not to smile; he tried pushing his mom’s hand away, but fell victim to his kisses again and finally let out a loud laugh.

“I know you can make great origami animals. So you’ll try again and give it to Bokuto-san then, okay?”

“Okay, okay.” Tetsu hopped off the bench and took his mother’s hand, a bit more cheerful now that he knew Bokuto wouldn’t scoff at his homemade art projects. And because his mom had proven Atsumu wrong. “Are you happy that I got my first fight over with, Mom?”

“Not particularly. But I am proud of you for at least _trying_ to prevent a fight. You didn’t cheer Terushima on, did you?”

“Only on the inside,” Tetsurou grinned.

“Tch. I suppose that’s a little bit better,” Keiji shook his head. “At least you didn’t wear your Prada jacket today.”

“Oh man, if Atsumu had tried me when I was wearing that, I would have _decked_ him!”

“And then you would be grounded.”

“I bet dad would un-ground me!”

“If he wants to sleep on the couch for a week, yeah.”

“Hehe!” Tetsu giggled. “Do you really think Dad would have liked the origami owl, Mommy?”

“Of course he would, sweetie,” Akaashi nodded certainly. Maybe for Tetsu’s next fight (heaven forbid), Bokuto would be there to over-worry and ask if he won or not. Keiji just hoped this wouldn’t become a habit for their children. But that was a concern for another day. “Come on—let’s go home and get you cleaned up.”

The mother and son gathered their things and began heading home; Akaashi was still mentally preparing for his conversation with Bokuto, which he had warned his boyfriend about earlier. Koutarou wasn’t nervous about their up-coming talk, but his paranoia was at an all-time high, higher than when he was in prison and every inmate was out to get him. Higher than any of his jobs as an assassin before, higher than when a cameraman was following them around snapping pictures. Although Bokuto was trained in waiting and patience, he did not like the fact that Shirabu was the one holding all the cards right now—Bokuto was a man of action. The only reason he waited now was because he wanted to give Goshiki time to make the right choice.

 _That’s the only way to avoid a bloodbath_.

Bokuto had to continuously remind himself of this throughout the day so he wouldn’t just storm over to Shiratorizawa and raise hell. He was a father, now; he couldn’t go around murdering people. That wasn’t what good fathers did, what good boyfriends did. Koutarou had to give Goshiki the benefit of the doubt. If the soldier really admired and was devoted to their real clan leader, he would expose Shirabu and allow Bokuto to step back and live his life. But just in case that didn’t happen…Bokuto was preparing with his own stash of weapons. Right now, he was driving to the storage unit where his old belongings had been placed after his imprisonment.

“No one seems to be following me,” Koutarou murmured, peeking at his mirrors every few minutes or so. “Nothing to see here, just a guy going to his old storage unit…”

Shirabu’s dark threats and sinister eyes were burned into Bokuto’s brain, mocking him by repeating their horror over and over again. The more he thought about it, the angrier and more irrational Koutarou became, so he forced himself to focus on the road and ensure no one was tailing him. What Bokuto didn’t know was that the Shiratorizawa yakuza members weren’t watching him, but driving around in Nekoma trying to find their _own_ boss.

“Why did he just take off without telling anyone where he was going?”

“I don’t know…Goshiki was supposed to come in today, but he never showed,” Another soldier explained anxiously as they tried to drive casually.

“Unbelievable…he bitches to us about being ready for the plan tomorrow, and then he disappears today!” The driver shook his head. “As if this situation didn’t make me sick enough. What the fuck are we going to do if we can’t find him by tomorrow?”

“…Not sure. Let’s just try to find him by tonight—think hard. Where could he have possibly gone the day before the big plan he’s been preparing for years?”

The Shiratorizawa men were at a loss. They had no possible idea where Shirabu Kenjiro could be, what could be so important that he ran off without telling anyone where he was headed. They _did_ know that their boss had been inconceivably angry since his brief meeting with Fukurodani’s ex-hitman Bokuto Koutarou yesterday…he had destroyed a car, shot two of his subordinates, bashed his fist into a wall, screamed at anyone who tried to calm him down and was essentially inconsolable. Whatever had went down in that room obviously infuriated Shirabu to no end, triggering a violent response deep within that made him see nothing but red. That was the biggest lead they had, but since no one really knew the extent of Shirabu’s history with the objects of his rage, the soldiers were unable to put the pieces together, unaware that their boss was a mere four-blocks away from them.

The soldiers didn’t realize that the plan had been detonated a day early.

“…And before the recess incident, Taketora-kun was reading us a story about giants eating the toes off humans!”

“That seems a little…explicit.”

“No way, Mom!” Tetsurou assured him. “Kids don’t understand gore! We just think it’s cool!”

“Right, right,” Akaashi chuckled, grabbing his son’s hand as they walked towards the house. He got chills from touching Tetsu today, as if his body knew there was one more of him on the way; Keiji couldn’t stop smiling down at his son, mentally imagining two of them arguing and fighting for the most affection. “…None of your friends have siblings, do they?”

“Nah. They’re all spoiled only-children.”

“I wonder what that’s like…”

“Yeah!” Tetsu nodded.

Akaashi rolled his eyes playfully, trying to find the house keys in his mess of a purse. He had sworn he saw some strange men hanging around the neighborhood this morning, but there didn’t seem to be any of them around now when he briefly glanced towards the street. All the while, Tetsu was suddenly deep in thought, staring up at his mother with burning curiosity.

“Hey Mom.”

“Yeah baby?”

“Am _I_ going to have a sibling one day? I promise I’ll help change diapers, and I’ll make sure they always have the _coolest_ clothes!” Tetsurou assured, as if he needed to offer a service in exchange for a younger sibling. “I’ll even help them go to bed sometimes, and let them play with my Legos! I won’t even throw any at them!”

Akaashi found his keys, looking down at his son with a strange, brighter-than-usual smile. It was very suspicious, like he knew something Tetsu didn’t. Still, the boy wasn’t going to give-up on his dream of having a sibling to dress like a doll, and held onto the ballerina’s arm pleadingly.

“So? What do you think, Mommy?”

“I think I see the possibility in your near future.”

“For real?! _Sweet nuggets!_ ”

Akaashi laughed lowly, opening the front door as Tetsu zoomed past him without taking his snow boots off, leaving wet puddles in his wake.

“Tetsu, take your boots off, please!” He called after him, sighing when he heard Tetsurou stomp up the stairs. Keiji slid his own winter gear off at a slow pace, feeling as if he had to move slowly as to not disrupt the baby’s slumber inside of him—he knew their child was probably too undeveloped to even realize what was going on, but Akaashi liked the idea of Bokuto doting on him so much he thought he might take Konoha’s advice and “milk his pregnancy woes out” as much as he could.

 _He’s going to be so excited_ , Keiji sighed dreamily. _He didn’t get the chance to know about Tetsurou…he’ll probably make-up for that by being fifty-times more dramatic, now. Not that I mind. His excitement will make Tetsu excited, and they’ll probably treat me like a baby for the entire nine-months. Is that what happy families do?_

_Suguru was right about one thing: I am exceptionally happy._

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi greeted, walking towards the living room where he expected the fish fryer to be lounging casually. “We’re home.”

“Welcome home.”

For a split-second, Keiji thought he was having a nightmare—that voice did not belong in any of his dreams, had no place in the current fantasy Akaashi was living. It took him by such heavy surprise the ballerina didn’t turn around for a long minute, but his horror was just as real as it was all those years before. Shirabu Kenjiro, his ex-husband, emerged from the kitchen and entered the hallway where Akaashi was, staring at him with cold eyes and a slightly disheveled appearance. If Akaashi was thinking clearly, he would have noted that Shirabu hadn’t slept recently, and that his left hand was bruised and poorly wrapped in gauze. There were also splatters of human blood on his grey suit, but it wasn’t his own blood—the gun residue on his hand answered that question.

If Akaashi was thinking clearly, he would have never approached Shirabu seven-years before, and spared them both the trouble.

“Keiji-chan,” He greeted without any trace of amusement. “Long time no see.”

Keiji’s body was completely frozen, just like the last night he ever saw Shirabu, but his mind was racing to quickly comprehend the situation: his ex was _here_ , inside their _house_ , waiting for him, waiting for _them_ to come home. Skipping the how, Akaashi wondered about the why—and deep down, he knew exactly why, but he didn’t understand why he was still alive. It was evident that Kenjiro hated the ballerina, hated Tetsurou, but why was he just standing there?

Sensing a small chance to escape, Tetsurou’s mother stood his ground.

“You need to leave,” Keiji ordered sternly. “You’re not welcomed in this house.”

“Apparently,” Shirabu agreed with a dangerous chuckle. “There isn’t a single picture in this house to remember me by. I must say, I’m a bit disappointed.”

“I cleaned the floor up!”

Tetsu came bouncing down the stairs, and that finally triggered Akaashi’s body into movement, giving him back feeling in his legs and arms as the boy stopped behind his mother. He realized they weren’t alone, recognizing the ugly hair of their visitor; it was the strange man who apparently _did_ know Keiji, the one who talked to Tetsurou at school one afternoon. Although the seven-year-old wasn’t happy about this man’s sudden appearance, he figured he had to act somewhat polite.

“Oh—I didn’t know you had a friend over, Mom,” Tetsurou said.

“He’s not a friend,” Akaashi corrected sharply, stepping in front of Tetsu to shield him from view. “He was just leaving. Why don’t you go upstairs for a few minutes while I make you a snack?”

“Wow, really?! Will you make those cute bunny apples like daddy does?”

“Whatever you want. Now go.”

Akaashi never let his attention waver from Shirabu’s face, watching those cruel, bloodshot eyes as they followed after Tetsu’s figure with extreme displeasure. He made no move to go after the boy, however, instead returning his attention to Keiji, and only Keiji. It had been years since he saw the ballerina in person; time had done him well. Photographs could never capture the likeliness of Akaashi’s face, his fluttering eyelids and exquisite shape…Shirabu remembered how envious everyone was of them, during their short time as a couple. All of his friends and colleagues always said how lucky he was, how everyone wished they could have a perfect family like theirs.

Kenjiro didn’t doubt his hatred for Akaashi Keiji, the person who ruined their happiness, and was happy to feel that his desire to destroy the mother did not waver when they came face-to-face. The informant had been quite far-off in his assumption that Shirabu wanted Akaashi back—there was nothing more exciting to Shirabu than the image of this same person writhing around on the cold ground, sobbing, bleeding, broken as he was repeatedly shown what a real man was.

“That’s quite the crew Bokuto has ‘protecting’ you…I took them down in what, less than five-minutes?” Shirabu prompted, beginning to slowly walk closer to Akaashi. “Not for lack of trying, though. I’m sure they did their best. What I want to know is, why your precious boyfriend left you _all alone_.”

“I’m giving you one last chance to leave, Kenjiro,” Akaashi growled dangerously, never taking a step back no matter how close his ex was getting. “Get out of my house.”

“Doesn’t that _bother_ you, Keiji? Knowing that he left you to defend for yourself when he knew I was coming for you?”

That was close enough. Akaashi stuck his hand into a nearby vase and pulled out a bottle of pepper spray, aiming it at Shirabu’s face threateningly. It made the other man smile, and his patience wear even thinner than it already was.

“I don’t need _anyone_ to defend me.”

Akaashi kept his hand steady even when Kenjiro laughed lowly, shaking his head in disapproval. They were in the same situation five-years before, with Shirabu ending up on top even in his drunken state—maybe they were outmatched in a physical fight, but at the very least, Keiji was going to make sure his ex was partially disabled. Shirabu seemed to know this and took half a step backwards, expression turning from amused to annoyed in a moment.

“You always were _much_ too stubborn for a housewife.”

Kenjiro pulled out a gun from his jacket and pointed it at the ballerina, making Akaashi’s determined expression fail. Pepper spray wasn’t as fast as a bullet, but even if Keiji was gunned-down first, he wasn’t about to let Shirabu go after Tetsu with good eyes. Nerves shaken, Akaashi stayed exactly where he was, holding the bottle out the same way his ex held the handgun.

“Now, now, there’s no need to be afraid—I wouldn’t spend all this time planning my revenge just to shoot you quickly,” Shirabu explained coolly. “All you have to do is go grab our son, bring him down and come with me.”

“No.”

“In case you haven’t realized, Keiji-chan, this is not up for a _debate_. You won’t be able to withstand me for longer than a few minutes. There’s no use fighting the inevitable—you, your son and that hitman are going to be mine within the hour.”

“Don’t count on it.”

A clicking noise was what caught both Shirabu and Akaashi’s attention. The ballerina glanced behind Shirabu to see a silver gun pointed at the back of his skull, ready to blast away if the yakuza member even _thought_ about pulling his own trigger. Konoha’s expression was shady, menacing, as if he was silently daring Kenjiro to give him a reason. Shirabu wasn’t as shocked as his ex, eye twitching in fury as he side-glanced behind him.

“Last time I checked, entering your ex-husband’s house without permission is trespassing,” Konoha informed him. “Now get your sorry ass out of here before I blast your head off, Shirabu.”

At first, Keiji didn’t think Shirabu would recede. His aura was unstable, furious and reserved all at the same time, so it was difficult to guess what he was thinking. After an unbearable wait, cold barrel pressed against the back of his head, Kenjiro lowered his weapon and slid the gun back into his belt. His glare never left Akaashi, body seeping out more anger with each passing second.

“Okay…now get lost,” Akinori ordered again. “Hurry, before my finger _accidentally_ slips.”

“He’s going to kill you, you know,” Shirabu said, ignoring Konoha’s warning. Akaashi didn’t take the bait, but Kenjiro knew he was listening. “Bokuto Koutarou. One way or another, he’s going to be the reason for your ruin. That’s one promise I _know_ I can keep.”

Shirabu made a turn to leave, but then looked back over his shoulder with narrowed eyes full of deception. Konoha kept his gun pointed and at the ready—Akaashi could hear his ex loud and clear, fearful chills going down his spine when Shirabu spoke again, this time in a lower, more contemplative tone that promised nothing but trouble.

“I might willing to overlook this deceit…if you and Tetsu were to return, I would consider ending Bokuto’s torture a bit earlier than scheduled.”

“As if we would _ever_ go back to you, Shirabu,” Akaashi spat furiously. “I would rather die than give Bokuto-san up.”

Keiji’s words triggered another surge of rage within Shirabu, whose eyes widened momentarily, then returned to normal with a red fire inside them.

“Then die you will, Keiji.”

Shirabu stepped past Konoha, disappearing as the front door was slammed shut. Akaashi slumped down to the ground stressfully, shaking and heart racing frantically, still believing itself to be in danger even after Shirabu was gone. At the very least, Tetsurou didn’t see any of what had just gone down…Keiji could still hear his footsteps pittering around upstairs in the playroom and silently thanked fate. Akinori was doing some recovering of his own, sighing deeply after he locked the front door.

“K-Konoha?” Akaashi prompted, eyes trailing towards the silver handgun. “How…you…”

“What? I have a license,” Konoha shrugged innocently, sliding the gun back into his belt. “I would’ve used it on that guy’s sorry ass, too.”

Akinori held out his hand and helped Keiji to his feet, steadying him until the ballerina got his wits back in order.

“Are you okay, Akaashi? Did he hurt you before I got here?”

“No…but Tetsu, he saw him…what—what did he mean, Bokuto _knew_? He knew Shirabu was coming after me?” Keiji wondered out-loud, head spinning with implications. “He wants Bokuto-san…I don’t…I need to talk to him…”

“Yeah yeah, we’ll do that—in the meantime, let’s get you somewhere safe. We’ll hang at my place in Fukurodani,” The boutique owner said, tugging his despondent friend along and handing him his coat. “TETSU! LET’S GO PARTY AT UNCLE KONOHA’S HOUSE!!!”

_“All right!!!”_

Tetsurou came rushing down the stairs and was greeted by a tight hug from his mother; he wanted to ask why Akaashi seemed so upset and flustered (and holding pepper spray), but Konoha was rushing them, barely letting his godson buckle himself in before tearing down the road and heading towards Fukurodani.

~~~*~~~

Bokuto hadn’t been to his garage since being released from prison; but that was also when he believed Akaashi and their son weren’t in danger. Things changed, and he was relieved to find all of his belongings in the same condition as which he left them. Aside from a handful of personal items, there were boxes and crates full of weapons—handguns, rifles, knives, swords, hand grenades, katanas, a machine gun…some Koutarou got from Fukurodani’s dealer back in the day, some he acquired from a Chinese weapons maker for special hitman assignments. He loaded what he could into his car, keeping the artilleries he was most skilled with inside his jacket, including some throwing stars, a tanto knife and a small sai spear.

 _Hopefully I won’t have to use any of these_ , Bokuto worried, frowning as he finally closed the garage. _I’d hate to take out half of Ushijima’s fleet—to be fair, it is the useless half, but that still might piss him off, and then I’d have the entire Shiratorizawa clan on my ass…_

A car. Bokuto heard a car driving this way, through the narrow road surrounded by a dozen other storage containers. They most likely weren’t headed closer to him by chance. Koutarou went into hitman mode, ducking behind the small building holding a baseball bat he was about to put in his car; three black cars entered the corner, halting to a stop and blocking the assassin’s own car in. A group of men began piling out, eyes narrowed and searching the area for someone.

 _So we’re starting this already, huh?_ Bokuto thought darkly, tightening his grip on the bat and readying himself to swing. _Fine. Let’s do this, Shirabu._

“Bokuto-san!” Someone called out. “Are you here?!”

That voice sounded familiar. Still on the edge of his toes, Koutarou daringly peeked out from behind the building, recognizing Goshiki and a few other Shiratorizawa members looking around for him. They didn’t have their guns drawn, and Goshiki seemed to be anxious, hoping Bokuto was near—if they were going to ambush him, that wasn’t the way to go. Slowly, but still keeping his guard up, Koutarou emerged from his hiding spot and approached.

“Goshiki?” He clarified, head cocking to the side. “What’s going on?”

“Bokuto-san! There you are—were…were you going to hit me with that?” Goshiki asked, eyeing the baseball bat in fear.

“…Maybe,” Koutarou shrugged innocently. “What’s up?”

“I’m going to tell Ushijima-sama about Shirabu,” He said shortly. Bokuto’s heart skipped a few beats, conversation turning serious. “We’re going to drive over there right now and put a stop to this. I can’t allow Shirabu-san to give Ushijima a bad reputation…not when he’s given me so much. He’s given _all_ of us so much, and we don’t want to see him fall victim to a disobedient subordinate.”

Bokuto felt his nerves flatten down their ruffled feathers. Relief flooded his body, sending a calm message from his brain all the way down to the tips of his fingers, which were previously ready to beat and injure anyone who threatened him or his family. He wouldn’t have to kill again. He would be able to keep his promise to Akaashi, to Tetsu. The baseball bat was nothing but an athletic object now, dropped in favor of hugging Goshiki tightly. Koutarou may not have known this kid, but he was certain he was an angel of sorts.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Bokuto sighed sincerely, eyes scrunching shut with so much relief he almost began crying. “Thank you, Goshiki…you have no idea what this means to me. I owe you my life.”

“N-No, that’s…that’s a little dramatic,” Goshiki huffed in embarrassment, awkwardly patting the hitman’s back. “I don’t think Ushijima-sama will let me live after lying to him all this time, anyway, so…”

“I’ll give him my word. I’ll let him know that you saved my family, saved _me_.” Bokuto pushed them apart, keeping his grip firm on the young man’s shoulders to show how serious he was. “ _Thank you_ , Goshiki-kun.”

That finally got a tiny, proud smile from Goshiki, who readily accepted Koutarou’s handshake.

“Well…thanks, I guess. We’re going to meet Ushijima-sama right now—do you want me to call you later?”

“Please do.”

“Alright then. Stay safe, Bokuto-san,” Goshiki nodded.

“You too.”

It was all over. Bokuto could feel the world spinning at a normal rate again, heart relieved beyond words as the hitman watched Goshiki and the Shiratorizawa men drive away. Ushijima was going to bring the hammer down on Shirabu. He would finally leave Akaashi alone, stop stalking him and wanting him dead—and Tetsu would be safe. That was the most important thing to Bokuto at the moment, knowing his son would be able to grow-up, and with his parents by his side. To think, the hitman had piled all those weapons into his car for nothing; he figured he could swing by Komi and drop them off before going home to celebrate with his family.

More cheerful and calm than he had been in a while, Bokuto slowly got into his car, smiling happily to himself when his cell phone began ringing. It was Konoha. Koutarou figured he wanted to talk about his relationship with Saruki or something and started up the car as he answered.

“Hey hey, Konoha! What’s up, dude?”

 _“It’s Akaashi,”_ A strained voice replied.

“Oh! Hey, babe! What’s wrong? Your voice sounds—”

_“Shirabu came.”_

Bokuto’s euphoria, so unaccustomed to treating itself, was easily deterred by the mention of Shirabu Kenjiro’s name. That’s why it made the situation so difficult: Bokuto’s previous hopes and dreams had been cut short once again.

“…What?” Koutarou whispered.

 _“Shirabu, he was inside the house when Tetsu and I got back,”_ Akaashi explained frantically. _“He—He must have killed the men, the ones I saw around the block…he killed them, and he told me to come with him, but then Konoha came and put a gun to his head, and then he left, but he said that you knew he was coming after us? Is that true?”_

This was not happening. This could not be happening. Shirabu was inside their house? The home Bokuto and Akaashi were destined for, the one where they were raising their son together? And Tetsu was home when Shirabu stormed in? That couldn’t be right. Goshiki had just told Bokuto everything was going to be okay; they were going to tell Ushijima about his second-in-command right now, so why had this happened? It couldn’t be the truth.

Koutarou thought of every excuse under the sun, but none could convince his heart otherwise. Shirabu was not stopping. The doubts were loud and clear again—when had the hitman ever been able to count on the yakuza? He didn’t even need to answer. Shirabu couldn’t be stopped, and that meant Bokuto couldn’t, either.

 _“Bokuto-san?!”_ Akaashi whimpered worriedly.

“I’ll be there in a fifteen-minutes,” The hitman said, voice lower than ever before. “Wait for me.”

Bokuto hung-up. There was no more time for speaking. Without buckling his seatbelt, without giving the car any warning, Koutarou stepped on the gas and peeled out of the lot, tearing into the freeway and speeding through traffic. His mind was numb, empty of thoughts, but his emotions had never been running higher; every color was red, and every pedestrian and driver he saw was Shirabu, the man who had abused and mistreated Akaashi. The man who neglected a boy he thought was his son, who tricked young men into joining his side, who disobeyed a powerful leader and honestly believed himself to be invincible.

Shirabu, the man who would cease to exist after Bokuto Koutarou was through with him.

To others, Bokuto seemed remarkably calm as he entered his apartment complex, where just a few of his belongings still had to be taken over to the Akaashi residence. He _seemed_ calm, but only because his brain couldn’t focus on changing his facial expressions, much too locked-in to change anything, really. Numb, void, empty, Bokuto entered his apartment and wordlessly opened his closet—there was nothing left but a single outfit, the same one Akaashi had bought his boyfriend in Paris.

To others, it would have looked like a man getting dressed. They wouldn’t have seen a hitman readying himself for the final battle, the battle for his love, and for his very soul. All they saw was a black suit, a high-necked shirt, a loaded handgun tucked inside and a pair of glowing yellow eyes breaking through the darkness as the sun outside lost its light.

Akaashi was a nervous wreck. Saruki was with them and assured Keiji they were all safe in Fukurodani, but that did nothing to slow all the horrible outcomes the ballerina’s mind was conjuring up. Konoha knew better than to try and talk his best friend out of his thoughts and let him pace, keeping Tetsu entertained upstairs so he wouldn’t realize the serious predicament they were in. Akaashi had called Bokuto over twenty-minutes ago, and only after the sun went down did he hear the familiar roar of a motorcycle in the street. Keiji rushed out of the living room, barely able to hold his tears down already as he threw open the front door.

“Keep Tetsurou occupied,” Konoha told Saruki as he hurried after his friend.

“Okay…”

Bokuto had just gotten off his bike when Akaashi ran outside, rushing towards him until they collided into a tight, desperate hug. This was the person he wanted to be with forever, and their agitated energy and unease for the future had never made that more clear. Shirabu was a lost thought as they held each other, using up all their wishes to ensure that nothing could ruin this small moment. They had never been so relieved to see each other again, and even though Keiji knew something wasn’t right, he absorbed all his anxious emotion into Bokuto’s embrace. Konoha watched from the doorway, worried as he waited to hear what Koutarou had to say.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi sighed against his chest. “I’m so glad you’re here—I was worried…”

“Akaashi…” The hitman addressed lowly.

He leaned them back just enough where he could see the ballerina’s concerned expression; Bokuto could have stared at his beautiful face all night, every night for the rest of his short life. But it wasn’t meant to be. All the bad fortunes, the bad luck and bad history replayed in Koutarou’s head as he slowly took Akaashi’s delicate face between his rough hands, holding (and at the same time, tainting) him like a priceless jewel.

“Can you forgive me?”

Keiji’s dark blue eyes scrunched in confusion, gazing up at his boyfriend with a thousand silent questions they didn’t have time to find answers for.

“W-What?”

“Can you forgive me? For the past, for the things I’ve done…for every damn lie I’ve ever told,” Bokuto explained with a pained look, golden eyes more serious than ever. “Could you ever forgive me for all my mistakes?”

 _His_ mistakes? Akaashi couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was evident to him that their current situation was his own fault—after all, he was the idiotic person who had invited Shirabu into his life, inadvertently fucking their entire family over with that pathetic mistake…he wanted to tell Bokuto that none of this was his fault, but deep down, his heart knew there wasn’t enough time. Akaashi swallowed tightly and reached up with his fingers, gently touching Koutarou’s cheek and watching as his eyelids slowly fluttered shut at the touch.

“I already have,” Keiji answered quietly.

A smile filtered to Bokuto’s lips, then, but it was pained. He opened his eyes again, back to a serious, almost _heartbroken_ aura.

“Then can you forgive me for what I’m about to do?”

Now Akaashi was beyond confused, and even thought doubts plagued his mind, he didn’t believe what Shirabu said for a second. Bokuto would never hurt him or Tetsu. Never. You could hold a gun to his head and he still wouldn’t even consider it. Keiji didn’t doubt his lover’s loyalty—and that’s exactly why Bokuto’s words made him shake with fear.

“…And what are you _about_ to do?” Akaashi whispered.

“Breaking the promise I made to you seven-years ago.” Bokuto was staring down at him, golden owl eyes serious, shadowy, but undeniably tender. “When I promised that I wasn’t involved in anything illegal, when I promised that I wouldn’t hurt anyone, when I promised that I would always tell you the truth. I can’t tell you the truth now, because it’ll only hurt you more. And I can’t keep those promises, because…I have to break them in order to keep you and Tetsu safe from harm. Do you understand, ‘Kaashi?”

Keiji tried. He really tried to comprehend what was happening, but it wasn’t until he connected Bokuto’s current words with the curse from his fortune that Akaashi understood.

_“Every day your dragon’s fire grows weaker. The sun is getting too close to the crops. A flying bird always betrays itself to defend the sky’s honor.”_

Bokuto wasn’t going to run away. He was going to defend them with every fiber of his being, until the threat was eliminated, until Koutarou himself was destroyed. There was no other way around the curse. Maybe Keiji should have been comforted by the idea of his son being safe, but how could he rejoice, when he knew the cost of that security? Shirabu was only going to be stopped through death. _Murder_. Something Bokuto Koutarou used to do for a living, something he had given-up for several years in order to prove himself to Akaashi, to earn his place in their family—all that work, and now, Bokuto was pulled right back into that sick, twisted yakuza world.

When Akaashi realized that, tears immediately fell from his eyelashes, and he dropped his head for a somber moment before looking back up.

“Then I’m going to tell you something, in case…in case…”

He couldn’t bear to say it, however more true the possibility became with every passing moment. Koutarou wiped his tears, holding his precious ballerina’s face up so he could remember every little detail. Akaashi swallowed his sobs, managing to gather his voice for one last confession.

“I’m p-pregnant, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto broke into a smile so nice, so pure and innocent that it caused Akaashi to burst into more tears. Why did it seem like this was their final goodbye? Keiji didn’t want it to be. This was their dream. They were supposed to share their family together, without worrying about the past and all its dark history…even when Bokuto kissed his head and held him closer, Akaashi couldn’t find it in him to feel happy.

And that was the worst part of all.

“That’s _incredible_ , ‘Kaashi,” Koutarou laughed happily, vibrations radiating through his chest and into his boyfriend. “I’m so glad you told me. Tetsu’s going to be a big brother, huh?”

Keiji nodded, trembling and torn between emotions until Bokuto lifted his chin up and pressed their lips together passionately. Akaashi couldn’t kiss him long enough, trying to _somehow_ show Koutarou just how much he meant to him; maybe it would make the hitman change his mind. Maybe he would let Komi and Fukurodani take care of Shirabu. Maybe he would stay here with them tonight, and then they could go home tomorrow and live happily ever after. Maybe the fortune wouldn’t come true.

Bokuto was giving his boyfriend a sly, happy little smile when they broke apart. His hands dropped down to squeeze Akaashi’s own, sharing a tiny bit of strength before falling away.

“I love you, Keiji.”

Before Keiji could say anything in return, Bokuto suddenly turned and began hurrying towards his motorcycle.

“Bokuto, wait! _Wait!”_

Konoha appeared and grabbed his friend from behind, doing his best to hold Akaashi back as he struggled, reaching out and kicking to try and follow after the hitman, who refused to let himself look back. Keiji became desperate, yelling and trying to squirm from his best friend’s grip, to no avail. Bokuto started his bike and was ready to take off down the street.

“Bokuto! _Bokuto_!!!”

It was too late. Koutarou flipped the bike’s brake up and jerked forward, speeding away from the house and blending into the darkness.

“STOP!!!” Keiji screamed through his furious tears. “ _BOKUTO_!!!”

Tetsurou Akaashi had been absentmindedly playing with Saruki upstairs, unaware of what was falling apart around him; his head was distracted by what happened at school today, and he was in the process of trying to re-create his origami owl. Saruki wasn’t much help, but he encouraged the boy while peeking out the window every few minutes, expression more grave every time he looked back. When they both heard the front door shut and commotion erupted downstairs, Saruki tried to casually leave Tetsu to his own devices.

“…I’m gonna go see if Konoha’s going to order us any food,” He said, standing up from the table. “Any special requests?”

“Hmm…I’m in the mood for some meat buns,” Tetsurou answered, sticking his tongue out as he tried to focus on folding the paper just perfectly. “Can you tell my mommy to come up here and help, please?”

“Um…yeah, sure! Let me just—”

Their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Akaashi himself, standing by the door when Saruki opened it; he looked like a mess. His usually cool, collected blue eyes were stormy, pale eyelids bright pink and rubbed raw from relentless tears still streaming down his cheeks. It was quite a different site from how Saruki remembered the ballerina. He tried to shield the shorter man’s messy face from Tetsurou as well as he could while lowering his voice to speak.

“Akaashi-san…where’s Bokuto?” The Fukurodani soldier asked.

Keiji didn’t seem to comprehend his words, or maybe he just didn’t care to answer—his empty eyes looked right through Saruki and landed on Tetsu.

“May I have a moment alone with my son, please?” Akaashi whispered.

“Oh. Sure.”

Saruki knew he wasn’t going to get the full story from Akaashi, and so bowed before exiting the room, closing the door behind him. For a minute, Keiji didn’t do anything—he was collecting himself, admiring Tetsurou as he quietly worked on his origami paper without a care in the world. He looked so innocent, sitting in a chair that was much too big for him, being the kid he was trying to make a gift for his favorite father. Akaashi loved his son. That much was certain. That kept him grounded and reinforced the silent decision he had been brewing on for the past five-minutes, ever since Bokuto sped away on his bike.

Tetsurou had spent the first six-years of his life without his father. And their next baby was not going to suffer the same fate, no matter what Akaashi’s fortune foretold.

“Jeez!” The boy cried when he finally noticed his mother. “You scared the nuggets right out of me, Mom!”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Akaashi began walking towards him, and Tetsu immediately noticed his teary face, flushed cheeks and overall upset appearance; it was hard to miss when the ballerina was usually so calm. It was troublesome to Tetsurou, who at first maybe thought this was a delayed over-reaction to him being called to the principal’s office earlier, but when Keiji kneeled beside his chair and spent a solid minute being utterly silent, the child knew that couldn’t be the case. He dropped his paper right away, turning in his chair to match his mother’s seriousness.

“Why are you crying?” Tetsu asked worriedly, softening the tough edges of Akaashi’s battered heart. “Did you stub your toe? Or bite your tongue?”

“No,” Akaashi sniffled. “I just…have to tell you something.”

“Oh. That’s cool, but…it must be something bad if you’re crying, right?”

Keiji gave him a weak smile and shook his head, taking his son’s hands in his own; for a split-second, he understood how Bokuto must have felt, using his hands for good and wondering if they were still tainted after everything he’d done in the past. But Tetsu wasn’t going to be punished for their past sins. He wasn’t going to be an orphan, or go the rest of his life second-guessing what love his parents had for him. No…Tetsurou was going to have a completely family, with younger siblings, crazy relatives and a healthy, happy life.

With _both_ of his parents.

“You know earlier, you asked if you could have a sibling?” Akaashi recalled.

“Yeah…” Tetsu nodded slowly, suspicious about where this conversation was headed.

“Well, sweetie…your wish has already come true.”

The dark-haired boy cocked his head to the side, a small, curious noise escaping his lips as he tried to mentally guess at what his mom could possibly be talking about. He was too cute. Keiji wanted everyone in his family to share this good news, just in case…

“You’re going to be a big brother, Tetsurou.”

Tetsu’s jaw dropped in shock, bright gold eyes widening with surprise as the news sunk-in. A brother? _He_ , Tetsurou Akaashi, was going to be a big brother? He was finally going to have a sibling?

“Are—Are you pulling my strings, Mom?!” Tetsu pointed accusingly. “You better not be! I’ll cry, too, if you are!”

“I’m not. Mommy’s going to have a baby,” Keiji smiled warmly, despite his lingering tears. “You’ll have a younger sibling. You know, the one you always pick on but secretly love?”

Finally, Tetsurou realized his mother wasn’t kidding, and broke into a beaming smile as he threw his arms around Akaashi. It reminded the ballerina so much of Bokuto’s reaction he almost continued his crying from earlier, but kept them in for another moment as he hugged his son back, chest filling with love all over again.

“I’m going to be a brother!” Tetsu cheered with a laugh. “Mommy’s going to have a baby!!!”

Akaashi couldn’t hug his son tight enough, feeding off his vibrating excitement and pretended that he could keep both of his children safe if they stayed just like this forever. But Bokuto needed to be there, too. The picture wasn’t complete without him. A few stray tears escaped Keiji’s eyes when he and his son parted, Tetsu excitedly keeping his hands on his mother’s shoulders as he jumped up and down.

“This is so _great_ , Mom! Bokuto-san is going to be pumped!” He paused at that, face turning comically serious for a second. “Wait…it is _Bokuto-san’s_ baby, right?”

“Yes, Tetsu,” Keiji laughed despite himself. “That’s why I’ve got to leave for a few hours, okay? I’m going to go get Bokuto and bring him home.”

_I know it’s stupid. And dangerous. And ill thought-out, but…_

“Oh—did he go somewhere?”

“He did. And…I’ve got to go get him. Can you stay with Uncle Konoha for a while?”

_I’m not leaving him alone in this again._

“Yeah!” Tetsu nodded readily. “I’m going to tell him all about our new baby, okay?!”

“Okay.”

Akaashi couldn’t help but pull his son in again, right up against the other child slowly manifesting inside his belly; Tetsu giggled when his mother kissed his cheek, glad that his day had turned into a happy one after the terrible day at school. He knew he could always count on Keiji for anything—that was why he was so excited for the three of them to all be in the same room again, so they could have a dance party together to celebrate the new baby! Tetsurou imagined the scene over and over again, and it only made him that much more thrilled to be an older brother.

“You’ll always love me the most, thought, right, Mommy?” Tetsurou joked.

“Oh Tetsu…I love you so much,” Akaashi swore, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. “We both do. Don’t _ever_ forget that, okay?”

“I won’t!”

“Good boy. Do you want to go downstairs and tell Konoha-kun the great news?”

“Let’s do it, to it!”

Seeing Tetsu grin and grab his hand was all Akaashi needed to solidify his decision. He followed the boy downstairs, letting his son emerge into the living room and capture Saruki and Konoha’s attention while he slid his cell phone out.

“Uncle Konoha, guess what?!”

“Your pants are on fire?” Akinori said dryly. He had already downed half a glass of wine since Bokuto left, leaving him to pick up the pieces of a heartbroken Akaashi. Again.

“ _Hehe!_ No!” Tetsu shook his head.

“Alright, I give in…tell me what’s up.”

“We’re going to party while mommy goes to get Bokuto-san! And hey, did you know I’m going to be a _big brother_?!”

“Wait—repeat what you just said, dude,” Konoha said in alarm, rubbing his eyes to make sure he was focused. Had Tetsurou said what he _thought_ he did? That couldn’t be right. Akaashi was upstairs, probably still crying his eyes out…

“I SAID I’M GOING TO BE A BIG BROTHER!” Tetsu shouted loudly.

“No no, the other part! Your mom is…going to get _Bokuto-san_?”

“Konoha-chan, that’s _really_ not the most important part of the sentence.”

“Saruki, stop him!” Akinori pointed to the hall, realizing what his godson meant. “Akaashi’s leaving! Go get him, before he gets away!”

Saruki tore out of his chair immediately and barreled towards the front door, ripping it open to see if he could snatch his boyfriend’s friend before he escaped—but Akaashi was already in his car, talking on the cell phone to someone as he hurriedly buckled his seatbelt.

“This is Akaashi,” The ballerina greeted shortly. “I’m on my way over. Tell Komi to get a car ready.”

~~~*~~~

Shiratorizawa was quiet for being in the midst of a plan to kidnap a mother and child in hopes of luring a legendary hitman into their grasp. Bokuto parked his bike on the outside of the neighborhood, listening to the silence, the heavy anticipation hovering around the winter air. He could see his breath come out in puffs, but couldn’t feel the cold. Ushijima, Goshiki, Fukurodani, they were all put out of Koutarou’s mind; the only person on his mind right now was the scumbag hiding in their clan’s secret headquarters five blocks away. The person who had the nerve to try and manipulate, to bribe Bokuto into murdering his own family.

It wasn’t a bad night to die. Shirabu had that consolation, at least. The ground was softening up, and there wasn’t a ton of snow left from the weekend, so the city would be able to bury all the dead bodies within a few weeks. Bokuto would have preferred to die in the summertime, when he had the most fond memories of life…but this was a good time for Shirabu, who could never step out of his own narcissistic fantasy to have any core memories.

Hiding in the shadows of a large building, Bokuto made a final phone call before all hell broke loose—even though the hitman was going to do his best to come out of this alive, the possibility seemed less likely the longer Shirabu Kenjiro was alive. One more person in Koutarou’s family needed to know what he was about to do for the greater good of every person involved.

_“Bokuto! Where the hell have you been?! Saruki called me and told me what happened, and I was worried tha—”_

“I’m in Shiratorizawa, Komi.”

 _“…What? What do you mean? Already?”_ Fukurodani’s boss asked in confusion.

“This ends here, tonight. It’s no use getting Ushijima to talk some sense into Shirabu—he’s too far gone for that,” Bokuto explained briefly. “I’m finishing this.”

_“Don’t be a hero, Kou. Wait for back-up, we’ll be there in fifteen-minutes!”_

“No.”

 _“What do you mean, ‘no’?!”_ Komi exclaimed.

A white sparkling object drifted onto the back of Bokuto’s hand. He tilted the phone away and watched the tiny snowflake melt against his skin, then peered up to see a thousand more just like it falling from the sky. It reminded him of the first snowfall he shared with Tetsurou, when he held the boy on his shoulders and watched the snow shower upon them. That was one of the happiest nights of his life. He even smiled at the memory now, only blocks away from his worst enemy, the person who wanted to ruin his happiness forever.

But that wasn’t about to happen. Over Koutarou’s dead body, it would happen.

“Shirabu messed with the wrong person,” The hitman continued lowly, mesmerized by the falling icicles. “He needs to learn that there will always be consequences for his actions. I’m going to teach him that.”

Oh no. Komi didn’t like the way his oath brother was talking. It was the same way he spoke before this mess, years before he met Akaashi and had absolutely nothing to lose…but he had _everything_ to lose, now, which was why his tone had never sounded darker, more determined than ever.

 _“Hold on—”_ Komi was cut short by a commotion in the background. _“…Who’s here? What?”_

“I want to thank you for everything, Komi-chan,” Bokuto said sincerely. “And goodbye.”

_“But—But Bokuto, Akaashi is—!”_

Koutarou hung-up.

Shirabu Kenjiro was just making it back to his office after mindless wandering, following his rebuff at Akaashi’s house. He slumped down in his chair without rebandaging his hand, or even feeling the pain, really; Shirabu snuck past his idiotic soldiers because he was in no mood to deal with their stupid questions or irritating curiosity. Right now, all Shiratorizawa’s second-in-command wanted to do was bash someone’s head in—but that would have to wait until tomorrow, as planned. Maybe Kenjiro had been a little impatient today, attempting to snatch Akaashi so early, but he doubted Bokuto’s ability to stop him even when he knew Shiratorizawa was after his precious lover and child.

Besides, who could blame Shirabu for acting out so when he was surrounded by such inferior beings? He may as well have carried-out this entire plan by himself, for how useless they all were…they didn’t understand. They could never understand what Kenjiro needed to do, how all of his pride was on the line; Akaashi always underestimated his pride, and it seemed that was a hazardous trait that wore-off on his lover.

 _Only when Akaashi Keiji is on his knees, begging me for his life will I be satisfied_ , Shirabu thought with a twitch of a smile. _Maybe I won’t kill the kid after all—it would be more entertaining if Akaashi never knew what his fate was. I could sell him to the highest bidder…kid would make for a good pet somewhere, in a foreign country. That should piss the hitman off enough, crush his will…yes, I think Tetsurou’s fate will be worse than they could ever imagine._

The door to Shirabu’s office was thrown open suddenly, and he let out an irritated sigh and peeled one eye open to see one of his soldiers standing before him, out of breath and wide-eyed.

“Shirabu-san!!! Where have you been?!”

“Out. Don’t shout, would ya? And get me a glass with ice.”

“But Shirabu-san, something’s happening!” He insisted frantically. “Someone’s here!”

Kenjiro’s hand froze in its reaching position, only inches away from a bottle of scotch, but unable to move any further.

“…Who?” Shirabu asked lowly.

“I think you know who,” The subordinate said shakily. “Bokuto Koutarou!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no one:  
> konoha: so anyway i started blasting
> 
> I overestimated how long my haikyuu halloween oneshots would take...surprise update! happy halloween, mfs


	12. "only i can forget"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get fucked

_“After this time passes_

_And only I can forget everything_

_Those memories, those happy moments…”_

Bokuto was hiding behind the building next to Shiratorizawa’s secret office, lurking in the shadows and mentally planning his first move; there were only three men stationed outside, all looking distracted and eagerly discussing something. As far as the hitman could tell, there were no more soldiers in the cars parked down the street, which meant most of Shirabu’s puppets had to be inside. Koutarou listened closely, eliminating all noises except for the shuffling, the murmured voices of the men—they were completely unguarded, unaware, not taking even a second to ensure their own safety. It was almost laughable, but Bokuto was in no mood for laughing.

 _One hand grenade to distract them, handgun to shoot the first three_ , he calculated, evening his heartbeat and rolling his shoulders. _Back to business, just like before. The men inside will hear the shots, and they’ll come running to the front of the building—good. I want Shirabu to know who’s coming. All his poor followers will end-up mutilated for nothing…but I can’t think about that. I need to focus on my end game._

When Koutarou reached inside his jacket to grab the hand grenade, his fingers brushed against the softer object he had slipped in and forgotten about until now: the hitman pulled out the blue owl charm his son gave him for New Year’s, running a finger along the ugly owl stitching. Bokuto’s expression softened for just a moment, remembering Tetsurou’s timid approach, his ultimate joy when Koutarou happily accepted the gift, the first gift he ever received from his son. It had brought Bokuto more luck than he ever could have imagined. He didn’t expect to have a whole family when he was released from prison—he didn’t even think Akaashi would speak to him for at least another few years. Bokuto’s luck had started the night Tetsu came to the fish stand and duped him out of a couple bucks.

The hitman brought the charm up to his lips and closed his eyes tightly.

“Bring me luck, Tetsu,” He whispered.

Shirabu’s hired men were whispering amongst themselves near the building’s front, thinking that being out of the door’s light would keep them from being seen. They were oblivious to everything, the fact that they were being hunted, the fact that Shirabu Kenjiro was using them and the fact that they were all about to be personally reprimanded for helping their boss with his revenge scheme. This, for someone who didn’t care what happened to them, and was beyond caring about any consequences of his own actions, at the cost of a young boy’s life and his mother’s destruction.

They should have been frightened, but had not the time.

“Ugh, I can’t believe we spent all damn day looking for Shirabu-san,” One of his soldiers said, smoking a cigarette. “Let’s just get this whole thing over with! Why don’t we move in tonight and take the kid?”

“Sounds good to me—but Shirabu-san’s a little OCD. Everything has to be his way, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah…I just hope Ushijima-sama hears about how good we worked for Shirabu,” Another commented. “If he doesn’t, all we’ll get out of this mess is a couple bucks.”

“I’ll take the money, too, but it would be nice if the boss heard about our good work; Shirabu-san is the mastermind, but we did most of his dirty work!”

“Yeah! The rest of the clan better appreciate u—”

_BOOM!!!_

The first three of Shirabu’s men went flying, colliding with the building’s hard exterior as they immediately found themselves overwhelmed by pungent smoke flooding their lungs. Everything was blurry, loud explosion noise echoing and ringing through the soldier’s ears as they struggled to come to terms with what had happened, stumbling around, coughing, desperately trying to see through the veil of smoke around them.

“Wh-at the… _fuck_?”

“What just ha—!”

The man cut his words off short—a shape was appearing through the grey smoke, tall, looming, like a shadow creature from a child’s worst nightmare walking towards their group as if he were a grim reaper. His clothes were black, all black, and the glimmer of a handgun held at his side become noticeable, but not nearly as noticeable as his bright, electrically-charged golden eyes. It was as if a sinister owl were staring the men down, an Ancient Greek omen of impending doom, of death, and Shirabu’s soldiers couldn’t move a muscle when Bokuto Koutarou emerged from the smoke, right on their doorstep.

One of the men was spared a violent death by passing-out from smoke inhalation, leaving only two victims for Bokuto to claim. Shakily, and trying desperately hard to focus through the rubble and smoke, the second Shiratorizawa soldier frantically raised one arm to reach for his pistol; his hand barely made any progress before it was hit with a bullet, dead center through his palm, triggering the first eruption of blood and flesh. He cried out in agony, screaming over his bloodied hand and finally snapping his fellow soldier out of shock.

“Hey!” The man yelled in fury, quickly loading his own weapon. “You can’t—”

_Pow, pow!_

Bokuto didn’t blink as he watched both men thrashing and yelling in pain, one at his destroyed shooting hand and the other at the new holes in both his legs. The hitman kicked away their weapons, watching their facial expressions closely to ensure their pain was severe enough—they might pass-out like their friend in just a few minutes, and depending on how quickly Koutarou wrapped this whole thing up, they might even not have to go through crude amputations. He stood over them, daunting, dangerous, observing the blood profusely flow from their injuries, ones _he_ inflicted; the man with two bullets in each thigh was still conscious enough to scream at him, voice pained, yet furious.

“Just—Just _do_ it!” He yelled, chest beginning to labor. “Sh-oot me!”

Koutarou could have. He already had his gun loaded, ready to aim and fire, but his own vacant expression didn’t change when he leaned down to speak, cold and blank.

“Sorry,” Bokuto said. “I came here to kill only one.”

The hitman ignored his dumbfounded expression and walked past, mentally counting how many rounds he had left as Koutarou put his hand on the doorknob and turned.

_There’ll be two men on the right side of the hall, another hiding to ambush around the first corner; guess we’ll see right now if the yakuza is still the same as it always was, always will be…_

Bokuto slid through the opened door, and even with the large exploding noise and follow-up gunshots, knowing who was coming and where he was entering, the two men on the right side of the hallway still weren’t quick enough. It wasn’t that they were unskilled—Bokuto was sure they were capable of holding their own in a fight, but experience was not on their side. They had not been through what Fukurodani’s ex-hitman had been through. They did not understand his skills, his style of execution, and Shirabu’s lack of filling them in was going to be costly.

Before their fingers could lower on their own triggers, two bullets were quickly launched towards them; each received one shot to the arm, disabling and rendering them virtually helpless. For extra security, Koutarou leapt forward and broke one soldier’s foot with a harsh stomp, feeling each individual bone crunch beneath his shoe. His agonizing shout of pain called the third man hiding around the corner into action, but into panicked action. The man missed his first shot, and Bokuto shot a dark glare in his direction—to the soldier’s shock, Koutarou threw his own empty handgun away (as if he wasn’t being shot at), reaching inside his jacket for something. He had no faith in the man’s aim.

Shirabu’s minion could hardly blink before three throwing stars flew through the air at lightning speed, sharp points piercing his right forearm, shoulder and the third nearly slicing his own finger off where it was pressing the trigger. Before the man could even shout in surprise, Bokuto Koutarou was there, head-butting him solidly and watching as he dropped to the ground like a sack of flour.

“You can thank your boss for making it personal,” The hitman scoffed after.

A flurry of footsteps alerted Koutarou’s attention, so he ducked into the nearest supply closet, leaving the door just a sliver open so he could see when the men passed by. There were only two soldiers, two separate sets of footsteps Bokuto could feel pounding against the floor; he waited patiently, listening to them get closer until their shadows blocked the closet’s light stream.

“What’s going on?!!!”

“Get your gun re—!”

A large, heavy fist came out of nowhere and collided violently with one man’s unsuspecting face, knocking him into the wall and out of consciousness. He had a katana strapped to his belt, so Bokuto quickly slid it out and turned towards the second soldier, who was wielding a large rifle pointed at the hitman’s head, locked and loaded.

“Ha,” He smiled darkly at Bokuto. “Looks like y—”

_Clink!_

Metal clashed against metal, and Koutarou felt that familiar fire light inside him when he saw the smug smirk leave the man’s face when the rifle fell into two pieces, obliterated by the katana’s swooping blade. All that remained was the useless handle and half a gun barrel. The same blade stabbed into the soldier’s thigh, bringing him to his knees upon being yanked out, at which point Bokuto felt comfortable slamming the tip down through the man’s foot until it stopped at the floor. It was almost too easy, although the soldier was still cussing Koutarou out even when he had a blade through his foot. People gave-up a lot quicker when Bokuto was younger, when he was Fukurodani’s hitman…

 _Maybe that’s because they were all afraid of you_ , a voice answered. _These men don’t know about your power. Shirabu doesn’t. No one does._

_Then I guess it’s time to remind them._

Refusing to waste any time, Bokuto hurried down the next few halls, taking a shortcut through the industrial portion of the building that would get him to Shirabu’s floor minutes faster; when he threw open a heavy door, half of him expected to be caught-up in all the horrible images Shirabu put in his mind concerning his precious son and boyfriend, but the sight of a soldier trying to snipe him from a control room quickly pulled Koutarou’s attention back. Bullets rained around him, clinking into nearby metal and the rusted staircase as he sprinted forward, shoulders low and eyes up—his moving form disappeared, prompting Shriabu’s shooter to stop for a moment to determine the hitman’s whereabouts.

“Come on, come on!” The man hissed under his breath, eyes searching the staircase. “Where’d he go?!”

The glass window shattered without warning, and as the million pieces of broken glass came raining down, Bokuto swung himself into the control room. One more round was fired, failing to catch anyone before the hitman disarmed the shooter, simultaneously jerking all his fingers back so viciously the sound of cracking bone was louder than falling glass.

_“Ahhhh!”_

“It’ll heal,” Koutarou said coldly, right before he grabbed the man and threw him out the broken window onto the level below. It wasn’t _that_ long of a fall. Bokuto jumped the distance and turned out just fine, stepping onto a longer platform that led to the door he needed to enter.

“Hold up, you bastard!”

Bokuto could feel where the other Shiratorizawa soldier was, just back and to the left maybe six steps, and that was enough for him to make the first move. He turned, gold eyes burning with fire as he observed the man’s charging stance, knife raised high to cause maximum damage; unfortunately, that would backfire on Shirabu’s soldier. Koutarou used the other’s own strength, and a bit of his own momentum to grab hold of the knife and turn the angle so it was pointed at the opposing force. The man’s eyes widened in shock right before the silver blade buried into his shoulder, going deeper and deeper until the handle prevented any further penetration. Koutarou’s hand was much stronger, therefore able to twist the knife without much resistance, only pulling away when the man’s legs gave-out from underneath him.

 _There should only be three or four left_ , Bokuto thought smoothly, running towards the door that would lead him to Shirabu Kenjiro. _Maybe one inside the room with him, a few in the hall. They probably have guns, but I’ll use my spear and my second gun._

_What will you save for Shirabu?_

Bokuto didn’t answer that. He stuck to his work, his job, his goal, pushing through the industrial building until he made it to the final staircase—a well-bodied man that towered over even Koutarou was one of his last obstacles before coming face-to-face with his boyfriend’s ex. His beefy hands were holding two guns, and as Bokuto prepared to duck back around the corner, he was a bit surprised when the Shiratorizawa clan member let his weapons drop to the ground. Koutarou kept his own weapons holstered, watching carefully as the man rolled his shoulders and prepared for an old-fashioned hand-to-hand fight.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” He warned lowly, cracking his knuckles.

“I really don’t think you will.”

The soldier charged forward like an angry bull, racing at Bokuto with so much speed and force he definitely would have trampled Koutarou without skipping a beat—but the hitman had fought men like this before, who used all of their body and none of their brains. All Bokuto did to deceive the larger man was give a quick side-step, after which he delivered a stunning blow by slamming his elbow into the pressure point on the lower trapezius muscle, just to the left of the spinal cord. It had a devastating effect, essentially forcing the man’s body to tense and cease all movement, causing him to ungraciously crash into the hard floor below.

“Told you,” Bokuto shrugged.

The soldier wouldn’t be moving anytime soon, so Koutarou rushed forward once again, feeling his blood pressure rise and his nerves turn electric the closer he got to Shirabu. He remained calm, collected, but Bokuto could feel the anger and hatred boiling up inside him at an alarming rate. That was to be expected, and of course Koutarou knew how to manage his emotions (except around his boyfriend)—he just didn’t want to be surprised at how his mind reacted when Shirabu and he met again. He had only come here to kill Shirabu. No one else had to sacrifice themselves for that rat. They might have sacrificed a few limbs, some teeth and blood, but Bokuto didn’t want to see them dead. That was no longer his job.

Today, the only job he had was to eliminate Shirabu Kenjiro. And Bokuto vowed to never fail his family again.

_One left, then a right. Shirabu’s hallway should be right here…_

Koutarou emerged into the hall unceremoniously, stepping into sight without checking who was where or what weapons they were wielding—it didn’t really matter anymore. Bokuto was in the zone. One soldier shot three rounds at him, nearly grazing the hitman’s jacket, but “nearly” didn’t count; he was impaled with a small sai sword within a split-second before being pinned to the ground by a harsh shoe stepping on his throat.

“My boyfriend bought this jacket for me, you prick,” Bokuto spat.

The spear twisted painfully in the man’s shoulder, and he made no attempt to take it out when Koutarou left him to deal with the final obstacle. One petrified Shiratorizawa soldier was pointing a gun at the hitman, looking nearly too stunned and frightened to actually pull the trigger; he had exited Shirabu’s office, door abruptly closed behind him, leaving him alone to try and deal with Bokuto Koutarou. This act of selfishness didn’t surprise Bokuto and only made him more determined than ever to get through that door and show Shirabu what he was made of.

_Pow, pow!_

Two bullets blasted through the final soldier’s shoulders, sending him falling towards the ground as the perpetrator walked right past him and reached for the doorknob—stopping or hesitating wasn’t in Bokuto’s nature, but he did pause momentarily upon realizing the door hadn’t been locked. He knew who waited for him on the other side. There would probably be a gun held to his head the minute Koutarou walked in, maybe even one more defender...hitmen were planners by necessity, but Bokuto knew there was no guarantee of any kind when it came to Shirabu Kenjiro.

 _If I can keep one promise, it’ll be to myself_ , Bokuto thought, inhaling through his nose and puffing his chest out. _I am going to end Shirabu and make my family safe again._

_I promise._

Bokuto opened the door and walked inside.  
  


Shirabu was standing behind his desk holding a silver handgun pointed directly at Koutarou’s head. The hitman took the scene in, observing every little detail, from where each area the furniture was located to the dark circles under Kenjiro’s eyelids, the confidence in his ignited eyes, their slightly crazed expression as they stared Bokuto down like the devil himself. The tense energy was suffocating, an unbearable moment of waiting as the two men faced-off, one fighting for revenge, the other for his family, and thus, his very soul.

“You made it just in time,” Shirabu sneered. “Do all hitmen have such impeccable timing?”

Bokuto made no attempt to raise his own gun, staring right back at Shiratorizawa’s rogue member without fear of being shot. It was not in Kenjiro’s character to let him off so easily—this was a story of the greatest revenge. Even though Koutarou brought the fight to him, the hitman knew Shirabu wanted a gruesome, cruel, tragic ending, and he wouldn’t just throw the plot aside when he had been working so hard on its ruthless details.

“Really, now, you should at least make an _effort_ to fight back, Bokuto. I don’t think Akaashi-kun would be very impressed if I sent your body back with no defense marks at al—”

Koutarou let the gun fall from his hand.

Shirabu wasn’t able to finish his monologue, expression dropping in shock when he heard the handgun clash against the ground. It was as Bokuto hadn’t heard a word he just said. But Kenjiro quickly discovered that his enemy wasn’t completely defenseless when a sparkling tanto knife was pulled out of Koutarou’s jacket, held firmly in his hand, blade sharpened and ready for whatever came next. Mauling, slicing, stabbing, whatever it took.

“I brought something special for you,” Bokuto teased darkly, dangling the dangerous blade in his hand. “Do you like it?”

“…Love it.”

Shirabu gave a shadowed smirk and threw his own gun aside; an antique katana was hanging on the nearest wall as a decoration, grabbed by the yakuza member to go up against a much shorter blade.

“Do you like my present for you?” Kenjiro repeated.

“Perfect,” The hitman growled.

Neither man disrupted their intense eye-contact battle, glaring orbs narrowing even further as the two slowly began circling each other like two predators trying to pinpoint the other’s weakness. In an ideal aerial attack, the owl would have the advantage of taking prey by surprise—but for the first time, the owl’s competition was another member of the sky. They were, metaphorically speaking, on completely even ground, and while the eagle should have had a significant advantage in wisdom and strength, the opposite applied to their current situation.

Bokuto _knew_ Shirabu’s weaknesses. He had far more experience in fights, in murder, in deception. He knew how to trigger blind anger, stupidity and cowardliness. It was obvious he was more wise and knew his strengths better than Kenjiro did. Reputation, status, wealth…none of those things that had gotten Shirabu so far in life would be of help right now. In fact, the only advantage he might have possessed was the very same envy that had gotten him into this mess: but Bokuto knew. He knew how dangerous envy was, how it made people act—and his hitman instincts told him to play on that weakness until the wall completely broke down.

“It’s a shame your son and boyfriend aren’t here,” Shirabu tormented, keeping an eye on Bokuto’s hands in case he tried to pull a fast one. “Really, their special inclusion was the best part of our showdown—they added a lot more… _drama_ , don’t you think?”

Koutarou was in no mood to humor Kenjiro’s sick fantasies. He silently reminded himself that Akaashi and Tetsurou were both safe and sound, at Konoha’s with Saruki guarding them. The hitman couldn’t let himself become unfocused by Shirabu’s dark intent.

“What? No witty remark? And here I thought you were the funny one.”

“I’m a good listener,” Bokuto replied lowly. “Every time you speak, I discover more and more about your character.”

“Because that’s very useful in a fight to the death,” Shirabu scoffed humorously, tightening his grip on the katana. “Do tell, Bokuto-kun: what have you learned so far?”

“Everything I know about you; everything I’ve heard and seen, your emotions, your background, your behavior…it all comes back to Akaashi.”

That got the Shiratorizawa member’s eye to twitch.

“How do you suppose?” He asked curtly.

“For starters? Every time you speak, you always bring the conversation back to him,” Koutarou explained, circling slower and slower. “You start every topic with the idea of it leading to Akaashi somehow. You hate him for standing up to you, hate him for leaving you behind and cutting off all contact, but at the end of the day, you can’t help but want him back because of how good he makes you look.”

Kenjiro leapt forward, getting Koutarou to take two steps back in preparation, but he was never attacked; the shorter man had just been messing with him, or at least, wanted it to seem that way. His irritated expression told a different story about the rage slowly bubbling up inside of him.

“Preposterous,” Shirabu glared sharply, breathing just a bit heavier than before. Bokuto had broken a sweat, but that was only because of his earlier exercise going through the building. “I hired you to _murder_ Akaashi.”

“And that was one of your many mistakes.”

“ _Many_ mistakes?”

“Yeah,” The hitman gave a sharp smile, straightening his posture and planting his feet firmly to the ground. “Your first mistake was thinking you could _ever_ be good enough for someone like Akaashi Keiji.”

Shirabu charged at Bokuto with the katana drawn high, slashing downward and stopped by the blade of the hitman’s tanto knife; when Shirabu raised his weapon once more, he barely got half a stroke down before a harsh kick met the middle of his stomach, sending the businessman flying backward. Koutarou kept at the ready while Kenjiro coughed violently, grabbing at his torso as his right hand kept a shaky grip on the sword. If Bokuto had learned anything about Shirabu via Akaashi’s description of him, it was that he hated being called out.

And that he played dirty.

Koutarou had just taken two large steps forward, energy raging with adrenaline and already prepared to end Shirabu before his victim suddenly whipped out a taser from his jacket. The hitman started moving away, but the two metal probes attached to his thigh—just as the electric shocks hit, Bokuto tossed his tanto knife at the device, blade breaking the outer covering and destroying it. Unfortunately, the damage had already been done, and Koutarou fell to the ground twitching and jolting as the charged surge coursed through his body. Only through willpower did the hitman manage to keep his eyes open, alert, watching Shirabu collect himself a few feet away.

“Cheater,” Bokuto groaned, shaking the black spots out of his vision. “No wonder ‘Kaashi dumped you…”

“Like you’re any better,” Kenjiro shot back. He had stumbled back onto his feet, now, and was holding the katana in front of him. “Leaving your pregnant boyfriend behind as you were shipped off to prison? Tetsu-chan must be so _proud_ to have a father like you.”

 _Alright, I’ve had my break_ , Koutarou thought quickly, forcing himself to stand after ripping off the probes from his leg. _Time to get serious._

“Never underestimate a man of business, Bokuto-kun,” Shirabu commented playfully.

“Never underestimate a family man, Shirabu-chan.”

The yakuza member ran forward with his sword, slicing at Koutarou with violent intent, but little accuracy. Bokuto dove to the side, rolling back onto his feet and dodging another swipe; Kenjiro didn’t seem to mind that he was missing, enjoying having his ex-husband’s lover back on his heels. If Bokuto was now at a disadvantage, he didn’t see it.

Shirabu’s eyes were glowing red, matching the intensity of Bokuto’s golden ones but far less focused—after a few more empty slices, he gave a loud shout and used all his strength to slam the katana in a straight downward motion in hopes of catching Koutarou right on the head. The hitman jumped back, causing the blade to stab into the floor below and become stuck. It may have only been stuck for a mere second, but any hope Shirabu had of pulling the katana out again was destroyed when Bokuto gave the fiercest stomp anyone had ever seen; his forceful foot broke the blade out from its own handle, rendering the katana completely unusable, and sending Kenjiro stumbling back holding a useless handle.

Ignoring the tingles still shooting through his nerves, Koutarou grabbed hold of Shirabu by his collar and pushed him against the nearest wall.

“Did you really expect me to _accept_ your offer?” Bokuto hissed furiously in the man’s face. “You honestly expected me to turn on my own _family_ , just for a couple bucks and a spot in your clan?!”

The hitman pulled Shirabu’s body forward and slammed it back against the concrete, interrupting the yakuza member’s thoughts with suddenly blurry images of a very angry father.

“Someone so blind and prejudiced couldn’t _possibly_ have clawed their way to the top of the Shiratorizawa clan—did you use your money to impress Ushijima? Is that it?”

 _“Shut up!!!”_ Kenjiro roared, kicking and squirming to break free.

“And you thought you could get revenge on your ex-husband while impressing Ushijima? By torturing and murdering _my_ family?!”

Suddenly, Shirabu raised a small knife (apparently hidden in his jacket) and stabbed it deep into Bokuto’s right bicep; the hitman cried out and was forced to release his deathly grip on the yakuza member, who dropped to the ground and began scurrying away on his knees. Koutarou bore through the pain as well as he could, cringing as he tore the sharp blade out of his flesh and bone—some shuffling noises alerted him back to the situation, and he saw Shirabu’s shoes disappear behind his desk.

Weapon now in hand, a bloody Bokuto tensed his shoulders and followed the trail, dark clouds practically hanging over his entire aura.

“You’re no yakuza member,” The hitman growled tauntingly. “True yakuza members, brothers would never act so disloyal. They would give everything they’ve got and more, to their clan _and_ to their families—true yakuzas would never cheat or run away like a _coward_.”

There was no movement behind the desk. Bokuto guessed he had another blade back there and smiled darkly, looking forward to another scuffle that finally ended in Shirabu being torn to pieces.

“I made a silent promise to myself that I wouldn’t enjoy killing you, Shirabu. But honestly? I think I’m going to love it a little _too_ much.”

When Bokuto stepped around the desk, knife in hand, he was greeted by a smiling Shirabu pointing another gun at him from where he kneeled beside the chair.

“I win.”

_Pow, pow, pow!_

Three bullets finally managed to hit their mark, all in the same area to inflict a magnitude of damage: two penetrated Bokuto’s stomach, and the third tore through his lower ribcage. The hitman had been shot before, but nothing in this capacity, nothing at this close of range—he collapsed almost immediately, stumbling back until he hit the wall and slid to the ground, overwhelming pain erupting through his torso. Despite his black clothing, Koutarou could see blood pooling out when he glanced down, hand that had instinctively grabbed at the injuries completely covered in red.

 _Wow_ , a voice in Bokuto’s head laughed, right as his vision began to get blurry. _That’s an unfortunate ending._

 _I’m not dead yet,_ the hitman tried to tell himself, struggling to focus through the pain. His attempts at standing and stopping the bleeding didn’t help matters. _I’m not dead…I can’t die yet…_

“You _never_ learn, do you, Bokuto-san?!” Shirabu gave a huffing laugh. Koutarou’s eyes were now pinched shut, but he could distantly hear the yakuza member stand up. “You don’t seem to have a grip on the term, ‘ _A man who trusts everyone is a fool_ ’. Your own clan betrayed you, left you to rot in prison, sent other hitmen to eliminate you, and yet you managed to claw your way out and magically reunite with your precious whore of an ex. You managed to rebuild your life, but you foolishly trusted those who already betrayed you once! And here you are.”

The gun pressed against Bokuto’s forehead was so cold compared to the rest of his body, which felt like it was on fire. What the hell were those bullets made of? Angst? Whatever they were, Koutarou knew they must have done some serious damage to his organs, given how he could feel blood continue to seep out at an alarming rate, heating his skin up and making the agony in his stomach that much more intense. It didn’t hurt as badly as heartbreak, but Bokuto knew he was in trouble. Already he could feel his head started to spin, his muscles become weaker and weaker…

“At my mercy, on your sorry ass, alone, helpless, somehow stupid enough to fall for the belief that you could ever change what you truly are. I am _astounded_ at how easy it is to trick Fukurodani’s legendary hitman—if I had known all I had to do was put a price on your beloved’s head to get you here, I would have taken that _boy_ the moment I discovered he was your bastard child,” Shirabu hissed delightfully. His finger tightened on the trigger, only millimeters away from igniting a collision of gun powder and lead. “What would Akaashi-kun think, if he saw you in such a pathetic state? Ha! I wonder what would he think if he knew what dangers you put him and your child in? What kind of man is _that_?”

“A damn good one.”

What? Bokuto hadn’t heard someone else come in. Who was speaking? His vision was getting blurrier by the second, head pounding and struggling to comprehend the situation, but he could faintly see someone by the door, someone with dark hair, the blackest of hair, glaring, annoyed midnight blue eyes…it was Akaashi. And there was a gun pointed at Shirabu, held by a pair of beautifully pale hands, long, elegant fingers looking positively menacing. Shiratorizawa’s second-in-command tried to be equally terrifying when he noticed Keiji, but his threatening aura could not compare to the steaming mother standing eight-feet away.

Deep down, Shirabu must have known it, too.

Koutarou did his best to stay awake, getting a tiny burst of energy when his mind realized just _who_ had interrupted their vehement scene. Protective instinct kicked in, hitman internally screaming for his body to move, to do something, _anything_ —he couldn’t let Shirabu hurt Akaashi. He had spent the last few weeks ensuring that would never happen again, and now he was sitting here on the floor, bleeding out, utterly helpless as Akaashi confronted his ex? This could not be happening. A sense of doom combined with the excruciating pain in his torso put Koutarou in absolute agony.

“Kaash—shi!” Bokuto tried to call out. “Kaashi…”

Either Keiji couldn’t hear his boyfriend’s quiet cry or he was ignoring him in favor of staring Shirabu down, eyes looking more like a cloudless night sky with each passing moment. Akaashi’s ex slowly turned to face the entrance, taken-aback for only a second before lowering his own gun.

“Keiji,” Shirabu smiled sickly. “I’m glad you ca—”

_POW!_

The gun went off. Shirabu’s left side went stumbling back first, right at the shoulder where the bullet entered his body and stunned him so much he actually fell onto the floor with eyes wider than the moon. Bokuto could see that Shirabu had been shot, but to what capacity he remained unaware, desperately trying to get his legs to move so he could go to Akaashi. The loud noise rang throughout the entire room as the ballerina watched the scene unfold, still holding the gun in his hands with a tight grip.

“Yeah,” Akaashi huffed. “I’m glad, too.”

Keiji’s nerves were a bit shaken from having fired a gun at someone for the first time in his life, but that fear was nothing compared to his concern and worry for Bokuto. Hearing Komi and the other clans in a nearby hallway, Akaashi knew it was safe enough to drop his weapon and rushed over to his boyfriend; he looked a pitiful state, damning gunshot wounds littering the hitman’s lower torso. Akaashi dove onto his knees, frantically searching Koutarou’s face to see if he was still conscious and not already…

“Bokuto? Bokuto-san?!” Keiji addressed desperately, eyes widening when he saw all the blood seeping from his boyfriend’s body. His entire outfit was soaked, dark color stained with a deep red from his turtleneck all the way down to the knees of his pants. “Can you hear me?! Bokuto, can you hear me?!”

The hitman could hear him. He momentarily forgot who was with him, shifting uncomfortably and unconsciously trying to make the pain in his stomach reside—it did, but not until he felt a pair of soft hands cup his face.

Their touch was so gentle, so caring that Bokuto immediately remembered who had saved him. He peeled his eyes open (not knowing he closed them in the first place) and saw a blurry version of Akaashi’s breathtaking face: those worried, lidded midnight blue eyes under a pair of straight, dark eyebrows, sculpted cheekbones that belonged to some kind of Greek statue, pale, flawless skin that seemed to be emitting a bright glow…his small nose reminded Bokuto of another person he couldn’t name, but he was more focused on Keiji’s lips, light pink, velvety, thin at times and pouty when he didn’t get what he wanted…

 _Pretty,_ Bokuto thought in a daze, lips quirking into a weak smile _. He’s so pretty…_

“Akaashi!” Someone shouted, barreling into the room. “What happened?!!!”

“Shirabu, he…he shot Bokuto—he needs help, please!”

There was a lot of shuffling noises, and suddenly the office was filled with noise that even penetrated Koutarou’s confused state. Two more bodies were leaning down beside him, more unfamiliar hands hesitantly touching his body to investigate the wounds; Bokuto gave no indication that he felt any pain even when Goshiki applied pressure to the knife wound on his bicep. All he could focus on was the beautiful person’s face right in front of him, but that image soon started fading into blackness.

“Grab him!”

“We got him, boss!”

Someone else sounded like they were groaning in pain, and there were a lot of people in the room, now.

“Keep him alive, got it?!”

“Bokuto! Can you hear me?! We’re going to get you help, so just hold on, okay?!”

Komi. Bokuto was pretty sure that was Komi, but he wasn’t thinking about what the man said in the moment; he was thinking back to when they first met, when Koutarou was fighting off a group of thugs and was suddenly joined by another punk kid screaming at them to stop. Haruki kept asking if he was okay, even though he had gotten his ass kicked worse than Bokuto. After that they went to the convenience store in Fukurodani and got snacks together, the hitman recalled…why did Komi sound so worried now? Was he hurt, too?

“K…Komi,” Koutarou groaned softly. He could distantly feel his heavy hand reach for something, snatched by Haruki’s own and held tightly. “Ko-mi…”

“I’m here! I’m here, Bo! Just hang tight, alright?!” The Fukurodani member said certainly. “We’ll get you out of here! Keep your eyes open, okay, brother?”

Bokuto heard how distressed Komi was and tried to obey, forcing his eyelids to open again, where he once again saw a distorted image of Akaashi, who was now tearful and helplessly holding his lover’s face up as to keep him awake. Komi and Goshiki must have been the people grabbing at Koutarou’s wounds, pressing cloths against the bullet holes to try and slow the bleeding. It didn’t hurt so much anymore. Bokuto focused on those lovely hands still holding his face, letting himself tiredly lean into their touch, where he could smell a comforting scent that reminded him of home.

Akaashi…was he disappointed? Was he upset that Koutarou couldn’t protect him? He was crying about something, and Bokuto was really worried about the why. He wanted to move his own hand again, but his body wouldn’t listen—after another moment of distracting noises and people yelling, the hitman’s lips finally obeyed and opened just enough to slip out a few words.

“Do you…do you think I’m doomed?” Bokuto whispered painfully.

“W-What?” The ballerina sniffled softly. “What did you say, Bokuto-san?”

“Do you think…that I was meant—meant to do _bad_ things?”

Akaashi’s image was almost entirely black, now, but Koutarou kept focusing on him anyway, taking note of the pretty man’s injured expression and tearful eyes.

“No…no, Bokuto-san, I don’t think that,” Keiji shook his head. “I _never_ thought that. You’re a kind, loving person. Do you understand?”

That was the last nice thing Bokuto heard before his eyes fell closed once more, hand falling before it could reach Akaashi’s own.

“Don’t do that! Don’t you dare leave me, brother!” Haruki shouted at his best friend. “Someone get over here and help us!!! We need to get him to a doctor, _now_!!!”

Akaashi couldn’t hold back the flood any longer, bursting into sobs as he stood and backed away so the other Fukurodani members could help lift Koutarou’s limp, bleeding body up. There was too much blood on the floor—everyone was stepping in it, Komi and Goshiki’s hands and shirts were covered in red, and anyone who helped had their clothing stained immediately. Seeing Bokuto, usually so strong and undefeatable in such a state was too much for Keiji. He had just begun sobbing into his hands when a tall man with brown hair and charcoal grey suit suddenly dropped a large, comforting hand onto Akaashi’s shoulder.

“Take him to our doctor,” Ushijima Wakatoshi told the other men in a deep voice. “Goshiki will take you.”

“You have Shirabu?” Komi clarified as their group began heading towards the door with Bokuto in their hold. “Your men took him?”

“Yes. He’s in our custody for good. Now hurry—he’s lost a lot of blood as it is.”

Akaashi looked up at the man from behind his hands, too torn apart to ask what he wanted to ask, all the things he needed answers for, but Ushijima seemed to already know, ushering the ballerina to follow after their group. In a daze of his own, Keiji obeyed, weaving through the Shiratorizawa building and emerging outside where a car was waiting for them; Akaashi could hardly believe what was happening. He had shot Shirabu, and Bokuto was seriously injured, three bullets in his stomach and ribs, deep puncture wound in his arm, all that blood…was Koutarou already dead? Would he be dead before they made it to a hospital? Oh god, Akaashi couldn’t bear the mere idea, living without Bokuto after their history, after everything they had just been through, fought to protect—he couldn’t do it. How could he and Tetsu ever go back to normal? Things would never be the same between them. They were both going to be hurt beyond healing, just like Akaashi feared. This could not be happening. Their dreams couldn’t just be slipping away, not like this…

“Akaashi-san,” Ushijima addressed.

Keiji was startled out of his thoughts, peering up at the yakuza boss with teary eyes and a disenchanted expression. Ushijima’s own stormy gold eyes looked at him evenly, giving a serious nod at the ballerina.

“Go with Bokuto-san. We’ll take care of Shirabu.”

Komi held the door open for Akaashi, hurriedly motioning for him to hop in; with one last hopeless glance at Ushijima, Keiji followed, holding Bokuto’s head as they sped off to a Shiratorizawa doctor, seats filling with more blood at each turn.

~~~*~~~

Tetsurou Akaashi liked his Uncle Konoha’s house. It was super fancy and futuristic looking, but not so much where he had a lot of breakable decorations lying around. Plus, he liked to search the house for Konoha’s secret alcohol stashes so he could hide them in different places just to mess with him. The boy managed to switch several around before he noticed all the tough men around the home, a few stationed at each entrance and down the street. They reminded Tetsu of bodyguards, and to fall asleep he imagined himself as a famous J-pop star being protected from his fans. He only slept for a few hours before Konoha suddenly entered his room and turned the light on.

“Tetsu. Wake up,” Akinori said in a low voice, nudging his godson.

“Mmm…six more hours, Uncle…”

“Sorry, buddy, but we have to get up. We have to go meet your mom somewhere.”

That caught Tetsu’s sleeping attention enough to get him to sit up, rubbing his eyes tiredly and looking at Konoha in confusion. It was really late at night; why did they have to go meet his mom? Wasn’t he bringing Bokuto back here?

“Why?” Tetsurou asked. “Didn’t…Didn’t Mommy come back?”

“No. We have to go to him, okay? Can you get your coat and shoes on so we can go?”

Tetsu rubbed his eyes harder, and now he could make out Konoha’s face, unable to unsee how agitated and worried he looked. That was very unusual for his uncle, so Tetsurou knew he was being serious and pulled himself out of bed to get ready; Konoha wouldn’t say anything more, even as they put their jackets on and got inside a black car with Saruki and two other muscular men. Akinori began softly petting Tetsu’s head, putting him back in a sleepy state as he slumped against the man, wondering where they could possibly be going so late at night.

“Hey…Konoha-san?” The seven-year-old mumbled.

“Yeah.”

“Where’s Mommy at?”

“Shiratorizawa,” Akinori said, swallowing tightly after. “He’s…with Bokuto-san.”

“Daddy’s there, too?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” Tetsu gave a big yawn, smiling a little as he snuggled further into his uncle’s side. “Then I’m glad we’re going there…even if it’s late.”

Thankfully, Tetsurou shut his eyes again and didn’t catch Konoha’s pained expression. The car came to a slow stop, near a dark alleyway where many other black cars were parked as well; Tetsu saw even more tough men hanging around, amazed at their cool scars and intimidating auras. They seemed to be watching the area for danger, which Tetsu was oblivious to as he pointed out a particularly strong man to his uncle.

“Wow, Uncle Konoha, look at that dude!” Tetsurou said in awe. “He is _huge_!”

“Yup.”

“Like a gladiator! _That_ huge!”

“Mhm.”

“Where are we going?” The boy quipped, holding Konoha’s hand as they were led through a dark alley. “It’s kind of spooky here…”

“We’re going to a special doctor’s office.”

“Eh? What for?”

Akinori couldn’t answer. Tetsu was beginning to get a bad feeling about this place, taking note of the serious expressions everyone was wearing as he and Konoha entered a small doctor’s office that didn’t have any patients waiting. Komi was there, however, silently leaning on a table with his head down, standing next to a dark-haired man with horrible bangs, and Tetsurou’s mother was there, too; Akaashi was sitting in a chair and had his face in his hands, slumped over on his knees like he was extremely stressed and worried. Tetsu’s mood quickly changed when he came across this scene. Konoha painfully watched the boy’s face fall as he ran up to his mother and grabbed at his hands.

“Mommy? What’s wrong? Are you sick? Do you feel okay?” He asked worriedly, taken-aback when Keiji lifted his head, revealing a tear-stained face and red eyes. “What’s…What’s going on?”

“Tetsu,” Akaashi sniffled, just the slightest bit relieved to see his son. “Come here, baby.”

“…Okay.”

Tetsu hopped onto his mom’s lap, cuddling into his chest and giving the ballerina a warm hug to help him feel better. Keiji accepted it gratefully, squeezing Tetsurou so tightly he thought he might burst. He still didn’t know what they were doing here, and that strange sense of childhood fear began sinking in the longer his mother went without explaining. Finally, Akaashi leaned them back, still crying as he took the boy’s precious face in his hands; he kissed his head softly, but Tetsurou didn’t like the expression he wore. It was scary and frightening, seeing his mother in such a distraught state…why they were here must not have been a good reason.

“Tetsurou,” Akaashi addressed, voice choking-up. “I…I need to tell you something, okay? Can you listen closely to mommy?”

Tetsu nodded slowly.

“Good boy.”

The ballerina wiped the tears still flowing from his sore eyes, attempting to collect himself a little before telling Tetsurou the news. Seeing his mother so emotional was making Tetsurou emotional, and he found himself close to tears by the time Akaashi began.

“Bokuto-san is…he’s in surgery right now, sweetie.”

“Surgery? He’s…hurt?”

“Yes. He had an accident, and the doctor is going to be working on him for a while,” Keiji nodded. “We have to sit here and wait until they’re done, okay?”

“But…Daddy’s going to be okay, right?” Tetsu tried to clarify. “He’ll be okay when he wakes up?”

Akaashi didn’t immediately refute his son’s question. His mouth hovered open, trembling and struggling to not sob out-loud as he silently thought of how his son would react if his father were to…Keiji was normally so good at keeping Tetsurou sheltered from the horrors of the world, but he didn’t know if he was strong enough, now. Could he lie to his son? No, no, he couldn’t possibly…but he didn’t want to tell Tetsu the truth and have his new world be pulled out from under him…

_What would Bokuto do?_

“I’m r-really not sure, baby.”

Tetsurou’s eyes widened, and he was trying so hard not to cry as his mind struggled to come to terms with this sudden situation. Life was a movie for Tetsu, but he wasn’t sure he liked this plot twist very much. He didn’t like when the bad guys had the upper-hand.

“Will you sit here with mommy?” Akaashi asked softly. “While we wait?”

Tetsu nodded quickly, cuddling into his mother’s chest so he wouldn’t see the few tears that had slipped out of his gold eyes. Konoha, Komi, Goshiki and Saruki had been watching the scene silently, and all turned away when they could no longer bear the image of Bokuto’s broken family, waiting for someone to tell them everything would be okay.

Shiratorizawa’s back-alley doctor had already been working on Bokuto for over two-hours. There were three bullets to get out without causing more bleeding or hemorrhaging, plus the additional trauma of a severe knife wound—that injury would heal, and they managed to stop the bleeding, but the bone had been broken in two by a sharp blade, which needed to be set and put inside a cast as soon as possible. That was nothing compared to Bokuto’s torso injuries, however. The arm didn’t matter if they couldn’t extract the bullets before they caused even _more_ damage to Koutarou’s intestines; a rib bone had been grazed, splintered treacherously. That bullet had reached the furthest, and while it missed the lung, the splintered bone was in danger of puncturing one instead.

Koutarou was unaware of all these problems. In fact, the hitman was in another world completely: he was dreaming.

_“Bokuto, do you have Tetsu’s hat?”_

_“Uhh…yes! Here it is.”_

_“Will you put it in his bag, please?”_

_Bokuto smiled at Akaashi as he bustled around the kitchen in a tank-top and jean shorts, rushing around to grab water bottles and snacks for the afternoon. Tetsurou had a baseball game today, and Saturday mornings were already busy; Keiji was on break from tour and volunteered them to help out with baseball things, from snacks to fundraisers, which kept their family busy all summer. Bokuto didn’t mind. He liked when the house was loud._

_Tetsu came barreling in wearing his red Nekoma uniform and frantically looking for his cap. He was ten, now, looking more like Akaashi each year, black hair messier than ever, jaw turning more sculptor-like. His energy hadn’t changed, however, nor had his excitable personality and passion for anything competitive._

_“Dad! Have you seen my hat?!” He asked quickly._

_“Already in your bag, dude,” Bokuto nodded, ruffling Tetsurou’s hair up fondly. “Have you seen your—”_

_“Nuggets, I forgot my belt!”_

_His oldest child went running off again, and Akaashi reemerged holding their youngest, whose face Koutarou couldn’t see quite clearly, but knew he adored anyway._

_“Okay—everyone’s got their hats, shoes, snacks…is Komi coming today?”_

_“Yeah, I think they’re coming.”_

_“Great. We’ll have to get a picture with them,” Keiji reminded himself, scowling when he couldn’t find his camera on the counter. “Have you seen my—”_

_Bokuto held out Akaashi’s camera with a grin, making the ballerina sigh in relief. His stressed expression softened, leaning forward to kiss his husband’s lips gently._

_“What would I do without you?”_

_“Meh. Probably have a bunch of rich bachelors after you.”_

_“Sounds fun.”_

_“Kaashi, I was just kidding!” Bokuto whined, though he was still smiling at Akaashi’s playfulness. He handed their youngest off and gathered the last of their things just as Tetsurou came back, ready to go play some baseball._

_“Come on, Mom! I want to warm-up with Kenma before Taketora tries to take him again!” The boy said._

_“We’re coming. Go get in the car, please.”_

_Bokuto followed his family outside, using one hand to lock the door and hold their child with the other; everyone walked down the same path they had been using since Akaashi bought the house, Tetsu skipping excitedly to the car and hopping into his seat. Koutarou carefully put their youngest into their car seat, giving them a quick kiss so they wouldn’t fuss before settling into the passenger seat. Akaashi made sure they had everything, and then drove them towards the Nekoma baseball field where dozens of other parents were already waiting for the game to start. Tetsurou was bouncing off the walls by the time they drove up, launching himself out of the car and nearly forgetting his hat, which Bokuto slapped onto his head before the boy got too far away._

_“Tetsu, watch for cars!” Akaashi shouted after him in warning. “And tie your shoes! Ugh…he gets that from you, I hope you know.”_

_“You mean his charm and energy? I take that as a compliment.”_

_“I meant his impulsivity and air-headedness.”_

_“Ouch! Mommy roasted me!” Bokuto complained to their youngest, who giggled and held up their arms to be taken out of their seat. “Come on—let’s go watch some kids play crappy baseball.”_

_“You’re not going to keep score again, are you, Bokuto-san?” Keiji raised an eyebrow, throwing their bags over his shoulder._

_“Um, of course I am! They may not be keeping score, but I want Tetsu to know he’s a winner.”_

_“It’s just for fun.”_

_“Just for FUN? I know you keep score, too, babe.” Bokuto teased him. “Don’t act like you aren’t competitive, too!”_

_Akaashi mumbled to himself and searched the stands for Komi and Yukie, who had stationed themselves right behind home plate with their twin girls. Konoha and Saruki were there as well, Konoha wearing his usual “much too glamorous” outfit with large sunglasses and heels. They waved the family over and made room in their area as Bokuto set down their youngest child, who immediately ran over to Komi and gave him a big hug._

_“Hey, there’s my favorite godchild!” Haruki greeted with a grin, kissing the child’s head. “How are you today?”_

_“Good!”_

_“How good?”_

_“Really good!” They nodded excitedly, looking at Yukie’s arms where she was holding one of their daughters. “Can I play with Yuri?”_

_“Please do,” Yukie groaned tiredly, setting her one-year-old down. “Play with both of them, please! Where’s the other one? Oh, there she is—Saruki, you can set her down, now.”_

_“Long night, Yukie-kun?” Akaashi asked as he and Bokuto took their seats._

_“You have no idea,” Komi exhaled deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “They wake up at the same times, always hungry and crying…it’s too much.”_

_“Two is a game changer!” Bokuto nodded in agreement. “Told you.”_

_“When did you ever tell me that?!”_

_“Like, a hundred times!”_

_“You so did not.”_

_“Did too!”_

_“It must be tiring, being a single mom of three, Yukie,” Akaashi commented coolly._

_“It is.”_

_“Let’s be thankful we don’t have kids, Saruki-chan,” Konoha snickered in front of them. “We just get to be the cool uncles who buy them fancy things and encourage them to dye their hair.”_

_“Don’t forget piercings!” Saruki added._

_“Of course.”_

_The game started in a few minutes, Tetsurou waving to his family from his spot at shortstop. He, Taketora and Kenma were all on the same team, ready in the infield as the first batter came up; Bokuto loved watching his son play baseball almost as much as he loved watching Akaashi dance. He loved anything they did, but it was just enjoyable seeing Tetsu running around and having fun with his buddies. They had been practicing in the yard as a family, and Tetsurou’s coordination had improved as a result, though he still looked a little goofy running. The day was warm and sunny, but Koutarou couldn’t really feel it—he saw it, however, watched the rays bounce off Akaashi’s cheekbones as he smiled and cheered for Tetsu running around the bases. Their entire section clapped when Tetsurou turned around third base, watching him head for home plate; Bokuto was the loudest, grinning triumphantly when his son scored and making sure he knew they were watching._

_Tetsu high-fived all his teammates, beaming happily and following them back to the dugout as the crowd celebrated with them. Bokuto playfully ruffled their youngest’s hair, smiling over at Akaashi when they made eye-contact—it was the first time all over again, so many years before, the same smile they always had when they looked at each other. Bokuto was starting to feel heat, suddenly, welcoming the warmth as it engulfed his body with energy, starting at his right hand, where Akaashi’s fingers were sliding through his own…_

Bokuto’s eyes fluttered open.

For a second, the world was confusing and much too bright, light bouncing off white sheets over his body; two darker images smoothed out his glance, Tetsurou sleeping in a chair to his right, drooling and slumped over tiredly. Akaashi was on his left, face pressed against the hospital bed, though he didn’t seem to be sleeping. His hands were holding Bokuto’s right one, the familiar heat Koutarou had felt in his dream—pain tried to push through his consciousness, but the hitman brushed it aside. How long had Akaashi been here? He must have been exhausted, and instinct told Bokuto to call his name, just to check and see if he was okay.

“Kaashi…”

The ballerina sat up in a frantic hurry, eyes widening, expression breaking into relief and happy tears when he realized Bokuto was awake. They stared at each other for a long moment before Akaashi started crying, repeatedly laying kisses over Koutarou’s hand as he wept. All at once, Bokuto remembered: Shiratorizawa, Shirabu’s office, the men he fought…Shirabu stabbing him, shooting him in the stomach, and Akaashi, _his_ Akaashi, storming in to shoot his ex himself. Thank goodness Keiji hadn’t been hurt. Thank goodness he was here, with Bokuto, safe and sound. They were all safe.

_So my dream came true after all._

“You c-ame back to us,” Keiji sniffled graciously, smile trying to break through the tears. _“Y-You came back.”_

“You pulled me back,” Bokuto gave a weak smile, cringing when pain shot through his body. He must have been in worse shape than he originally suspected. “You…shouldn’t have had to—Shirabu—”

“I did what I had to do. I was protecting our family, like you were, like you’ve been doing all these years…”

Akaashi sniffled again, hurriedly wiping his tears away before looking up at his boyfriend again, taking a moment to admire him. Hours ago, he had been so scared that he would never see those golden owl eyes ever again; he should have known better than to underestimate Bokuto. He shouldn’t have believed more in Shirabu’s cruelty than Bokuto’s strength. Maybe he was a fool, but Akaashi didn’t care—he would rather be a fool for Bokuto forever than a trophy wife for Kenjiro. And he wanted Koutarou to know that. The dark-haired man reached up, softly touching his boyfriend’s cheek, like they were still in an untouchable dream that was in danger of drifting away.

“I’m sorry for not telling you the truth about Kenjiro,” He said gravely. “If I had…maybe…maybe you wouldn’t be hurt so badly. But…I had to go after you, to make sure you weren’t hurt. Komi and I went to find you, and I stole Konoha’s gun to…” Akaashi shook his head, pushing that thought away. “And now you’re hurt, and the doctor says it’ll take a long time for you to recover, and I’m just— _sorry_ for how things turned out, Kou. I’m so sorry…”

“I’m sorry, too.”

“For what?” The ballerina scoffed.

“Well, my brain’s fuzzy right now, so I can’t get specific,” Bokuto murmured, rubbing at his eye tiredly. It reminded Akaashi of their son. “But I just want you to know, too, that I’m sorry. Especially for…for when I left you again, at Konoha’s…”

Akaashi chuckled quietly, wiping a stray tear off his cheek and shaking his head; they could go over the past forever, picking out where each person went wrong, all the mistakes they shared that lead them to today…but Keiji didn’t want to talk about the past anymore. He was sick of wondering what could have been, and now that Shirabu was gone, there was no more need to worry about the past coming back to haunt them again. Bokuto came here for a fresh start. They all needed a fresh start, a clean slate, no more unnecessary apologies for things said or done. They all wanted what they always dreamed of: a family.

Didn’t they deserve that much?

“Let’s stop being sorry,” Akaashi offered with a tiny smile. “From now on, let’s not say sorry anymore. We can start over, be like we were before, the way we’re meant to be: together.”

Bokuto’s golden eyes closed slowly, sleepy grin showing just how relieved he was to hear those words. He felt strong enough to give Keiji’s hands a tight squeeze, getting strength back when the ballerina did the same.

“Sounds good to me. But…”

“What?”

When Koutarou opened his eyes again, they were scrunched in concern, high eyebrows worried as he glanced at Akaashi.

“Is he…is he dead?” Bokuto asked.

The hitman didn’t have to say the man’s name. Akaashi already knew who he was talking about and made a face at the reference. Komi told him that Shiratorizawa and Ushijima were taking care of Shirabu Kenjiro—he assured Akaashi that the businessman would pay for his sins times one-hundred. Keiji didn’t know exactly what that included, death, imprisonment, torture, but by Haruki and Goshiki’s expressions, he had a strong feeling they didn’t need to worry about ever running into Shirabu again.

“Not yet,” Akaashi answered lowly. “…But he will be.”

Before Bokuto could respond, Tetsurou began stirring in his seat, squirming uncomfortably before clunking his head on the armrest and waking-up. His narrowed eyes opened tiredly, scanning over the scene and slowly realizing what was going on—Bokuto smiled further as he watched his son jolt in surprise, completely awake now and throwing himself at the bedside.

“Daddy! You’re awake!” Tetsu cheered loudly, torn between smiling and crying. Koutarou held back a violent cringe when the boy hugged his left side, remembering that his father’s stomach was in fragile condition but forgetting all about his injured arm. Bokuto didn’t have the heart to push his son away, brushing off the pain and doing his best to return the gesture.

“Hey hey, Tetsu…I’m really glad to see you, bud.”

“Me too! What’d you have to hurt your arm and explode your appendix for?” Tetsurou asked, as if his father had somehow triggered the ‘ruptured appendix’ on purpose. “Mommy was _super_ worried about you! I was, too!”

“Ah, sorry—guess I’m a little more clumsy than I used to be,” Koutarou covered with a laugh.

“Eh? You fell or something? Is that how you got these bruises?”

Bokuto shared a look with Akaashi, who shrugged, not having a better excuse.

“…Yup!” The hitman nodded.

Tetsurou made a face that said he wasn’t entirely buying the story. He turned to investigate the screen with Bokuto’s stats on it, as if that would give him clues as to what actually happened.

“Hmm…it doesn’t seem plausible, but I guess that’s why I’m not a doctor,” Tetsu waved off. “Anyway, Dad, did you know that Mommy’s _pregnant_?!”

“I did know,” Bokuto smiled, the brightest smile Akaashi had seen from him yet. How he could manage it while in such a delicate state, Keiji didn’t know, but he was forever grateful for Koutarou’s strength. And his own. “Are you as excited as I am?”

“I’m _way_ more excited than you!”

“Wanna bet?”

“I’ll bet all my New Year’s money!”

“No one’s betting on anything,” Keiji interrupted with a tired sigh and a smile of his own. “Bokuto-san needs rest. Come, Tetsu; sit with me so he can sleep.”

Apparently Koutarou was in a stronger state than his boyfriend thought, because the next second the ballerina was yanked down onto the bed with Tetsu and Bokuto.

“You’re not going anywhere, mister,” Koutarou grinned warmly, burying his head into Akaashi’s chest. “Just…lay here with us for a while, okay? Only for a few minutes. Please?”

As if Keiji could _ever_ say no. He let his muscles relax for the first time in what seemed like days, carefully wrapping his arms around Bokuto’s shoulders and leaning his face against the hitman’s. Tetsurou squirmed up closer to them, smiling like crazy as he laid a hand on his mother’s stomach so the baby could be included, too; they may have been in a hospital bed at a back-alley doctor’s office in Shiratorizawa, Bokuto seriously injured and having just come out of a seven-hour emergency surgery, but they were okay. They could go home, live in their dream house, have family dinners every night, without worrying about the past. Everything would be okay.

Akaashi wanted to say how much he loved all of them, but he knew they could already tell, and so left it for tomorrow. They all fell asleep together, and met again in their dreams.

Only several blocks over, the Shiratorizawa yakuza clan were deep beneath one of their industrial buildings that was in plans to be remodeled and turned into an apartment complex. In the same place where Kenji Futakuchi was murdered, Shirabu was being held; the cell had been left over from a storage room of sorts, and the loyal members were keeping guard while a few were doing business inside the cell with someone who used to be one of them.

Shirabu Kenjiro distantly overheard a conversation between two of Ushijima’s minions right before the door opened—had it been several hours already? Shirabu knew exactly where he was, what cell they took him to, what methods they had been using on him to slowly break down his willpower…after what he did to Bokuto and Akaashi, it didn’t take long before force was used to punish Shirabu for everything he had done.

Seven-hours. Over four-hundred minutes. That wasn’t a very impressive time to hold-out, but the strong taste of iron and blood tainting the thick air around Shirabu was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a broad-shouldered, stern, intimidating man whose golden eyes had a darker shade to them than the usual gold Shirabu had become used to seeing in Fukurodani’s hitman, the eyes that haunted him every night. This set of eyes quickly made Bokuto’s disappear from memory. Or what memories Kenjiro had left, the ones that hadn’t been knocked out by the relentless fists and kicks that continuously concussed his brain.

Ushijima Wakatoshi was not someone you wanted to see angry.

“Shirabu Kenjiro,” His boss began in a dark tone. “You have made a fool of me.”

Shirabu was breathing heavily, but he could still hear the sting of every word when someone behind Kenjiro yanked his head up by the loose piece of scalp on the back of his skull, exposing his sensitive eyes to the light above, as well as the gut-wrenching image of Ushijima.

“I was wrong to trust someone so selfish, so predisposed to attract unnecessary enemies. I’ll admit that much. I was wrong to believe that your admiration translated to absolute loyalty instead of this underhanded deceit which has caused not only myself, but others pain as well.” Wakatoshi leaned into his subordinate’s space, scent of his cologne breaking through the smell of blood. “One of which, was a retired hitman for the _Fukurodani yakuza clan_ , whose young son, a mere _child_ you targeted for your misplaced rage and immature revenge fantasy. I don’t know how I wasn’t able to see through your insincere and agenda-driven personality, but now that I _do_ see it, Kenjiro, know that you are officially dismissed from the Shiratorizawa clan.”

The venom in Ushijima’s words put Shirabu in even more pain than he was already in, but Shiratorizawa’s boss didn’t care, straightening himself up to collect his rage. Shirabu looked a mess already: head beaten to a pulp, face bloodied and bruised, clothes tattered, stained with dark red to match the pools on the cold floor below. But it wasn’t nearly enough of a punishment. Not yet, anyway.

“When they fished Kenji Futachuki’s body out of the river, you could barely tell who it was…between the missing fingers, stab wounds, swollen face, raw gums and crudely chopped-up body parts done post-mortem to make identifying the victim difficult, it’s a wonder no one heard a man being tortured so.” Ushijima paused, staring darkly at Kenjiro to completely disclose his intent. “You took an off-limit informant and tried to coerce him into giving you information that didn’t exist. You butchered his body and tossed him away like trash when all he could tell you was what you already knew.”

Shirabu never admitted to fear, but it didn’t take a profiler to see that he was beyond frightened of what Ushijima, the boss he betrayed, was about to do.

“I heard what sins you were going to commit again Bokuto-san’s family. I can only imagine how much rage he felt towards you, who tried their best to destroy his chance at happiness, at a normal life…but I’ll do my best to replicate his fury.”

Shirabu began squirming violently as he saw someone hand Wakatoshi a tool, but he was helplessly held in the chair with absolutely no chance of escape.

“What was it you first did to Kenji?” Ushijima wondered with morbid curiosity, twirling the tool between his fingers. “Rip out his teeth, _one_ by _one_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shirabu is buried under kamarucho hills, pass it on*
> 
> this wouldn't have taken me so long if i hadn't been named nanny of my dad's new puppy...but she's cute, so i guess it all worked out in the end. anyway, YALL PROBABLY THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO KILL BOKUTO OFF?!!!! HE IS BABY BOY!!! i may like writing torture scenes and such, but fanfics are for fun! They're for happy endings! This chap was hard to make longer because, let's be honest, Bokuto would have kicked Shirabu's ass in one minute if he didn't cheat. But I managed to write over eighteen pages, sticking to my inner novelist monologing for your angst and entertainment~~  
> Stay tuned, for there is one more chapter to go...hehe


	13. "in the next life"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in honor of g-dragon's comeback xoxo

_“…Or in the next life_

_I hope I can meet you and love you again_

_Just like before”_

_One year later_

Bokuto breathed-in the warm breeze filtering through the study window, muscles relaxing even more than they already were; it was early summer, spring flowers just transitioning to full bloom and basking under the bright sunshine bearing down from above. This sensation had become well-known to Bokuto Koutarou lately, recovering at home following his brush with death after getting three bullet holes in his stomach. Akaashi insisted he recline himself for at least an hour every day, and his boyfriend was content to obey. His favorite spot for this peace and quiet was the study, where the window let in an East breeze and had a small blue couch below where he could lounge.

Tetsurou was helping his mother prepare supper in the kitchen. If Bokuto listened very closely, turning all his instincts on, he would have been able to hear his son’s chirpy small talk and Akaashi’s mild, amused answers—but Koutarou hadn’t used those skills in months. He enjoyed hearing quiet for the first time in his life, liked hearing nature’s noises drift to his ears like ocean waves to the coast, liked being able to recline himself into a vulnerable position, because Bokuto knew there was no need for being on-guard. Maybe he was a little bored of laying around the house all day long for months on end, but Tetsurou, Akaashi and their friends were good about providing entertainment.

The door to the study opened quietly, but Koutarou didn’t notice until his boyfriend spoke.

“Bokuto-san?”

“Hm…”

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Akaashi said softly, walking over. “Are you feeling okay today?”

“Never better,” Bokuto smiled back. Keiji held out his hand to help Koutarou stand up—he was nearly fully-recovered, now, but the pain and stiffness still came and went. “When are Komi and the others coming?”

“They should be here any minute.”

Bokuto slid an arm around Keiji’s waist, making sure they were pressed together as they walked down the hallway and towards the stairs; their friends were coming over for supper, which had become a common occurrence since last year’s events. Tetsurou loved filling the backyard with people and having “barbeque dad contests” which he and his friends liked to judge. Akaashi rarely ever used the backyard before Bokuto came to live with them (he hated doing lawn work and maintenance), but even he admitted to enjoying hanging out in the cool summer breeze, eating and talking with their friends. It was a very domestic thing to do, and both men thoroughly appreciated the opportunity.

“It’s nice having both of us around, isn’t it?” The ex-hitman prompted thoughtfully. “We get to pick Tetsu up from school, do laundry together, cook together, sleep together…we should do this all the time!”

“Are you saying you want _both_ of us to be stay-at-home parents?” Akaashi raised an eyebrow.

“Well, not all year round, ‘Kaashi—just a few months out of the year!”

“I’ll have to bribe Konoha into coming over to help you with the kids while I’m at the studio next month.”

Koutarou grinned at that, putting both his hands on Akaashi’s waist to stop him from turning towards the kitchen; the ballerina had a suspicious look on his face, though it evaporated when he found himself being gently kissed on the lips, warm hands keeping him steady. Akaashi really did miss dancing when he was at home, but he knew, deep down, that he would definitely miss this more when he returned to ballet in a month. Bokuto was still smiling even when they separated, only centimeters between their lips.

“I’ll miss you the most,” Koutarou told him lowly.

“Hmm…I’m sure Tetsu would argue with that,” Keiji hummed back.

On que, Tetsurou’s pounding came came towards them, eight-year-old barging in on their moment to tell them their friends had arrived. Tetsu had grown significantly over the past several months, legs longer than ever and making both his parents nostalgic over the past—the thing that probably changed most, however, was the boy’s grin, which had somehow become more wicked and mischievous at the arrival of his first sibling. He flashed that same grin now when his parents followed after him, smiling at his plans to prank Konoha every chance he got.

“Everyone’s here, Mom!” Tetsurou announced excitedly. “Can I open the door?”

“Sure, sweetheart. We’re right behind you.”

“Sweet nuggets!”

“How did he come up with that phrase?” Bokuto asked curiously, hurrying after their son.

“I figured he gets it from your side of the family,” Akaashi teased with a smirk.

“Hey! That’s rude! But you’re probably right, babe.”

“Of course I am.”

Bokuto was already smiling by the time Tetsurou opened the front door, revealing their group of friends holding drinks and side dishes they brought along for supper. Many people didn’t consider five people a large amount of friends, but that was all Koutarou and Akaashi needed—Komi, Yukie, Konoha, Saruki and Goshiki from Shiratorizawa. Over the past year, their friendships had grown stronger and advanced further than Bokuto ever expected. He was glad to have so many people to depend on, not for life or death situations, but for personal favors, free babysitters, a cup of sugar and thousands of other things friends provided.

“Komiiii!”

“Bokutooooo!”

Komi accepted Bokuto’s warm hug, getting Akaashi and Yukie to both roll their eyes playfully as they were welcomed inside.

“Just like old times, right, Keiji-kun?” Yukie snorted.

“Yup…just like old times.”

“How you been feeling?” Komi asked seriously, checking his best friend out. “You still in a lot of pain?”

“Eh. It comes and goes,” Bokuto waved off. “Come on, we’ve got all the food waiting out back!”

“You had me at wine.”

“But Uncle Konoha, no one said anything about _wine_!” Tetsurou giggled.

“No wine? Come on, Saruki, we’re leaving,” Konoha said, turning around to head right back out the front door. Saruki smiled and held up the bottle of wine he brought along, which immediately pulled a softened expression from his boyfriend. They had been seeing a lot of that face the longer Akinori kept Saruki. Or maybe it was the other way around…

“You’re a saint. And a hottie.”

“And you’re a borderline alcoholic,” Saruki shot back, earning a slap on his butt that made him yelp.

“Alright, alright, let’s keep it PG!” Bokuto warned, covering his own eyes instead of Tetsurou’s. “I’m too young for PDA!”

“Yeah right,” Akaashi mumbled to himself.

The group found their way towards the backyard, where beef, chicken and vegetables were already cooking, waiting to be devoured; they settled on the courtyard, watching the children play in the grass as the adults relaxed in their lounging chairs. A few different conversations struck-up about Bokuto’s awesome new grill, Goshiki’s latest haircut, and Tetsurou was eager to tell everyone about his next modeling gig, which he was most excited about because the ad was for back to school, and Tetsu got to dress “like a nerd.” Since Yaku hooked the boy up with his first modeling gig, Bokuto had been accompanying his handsome son to many more, and Tetsurou was more certain about becoming an astrophysicist slash fashion designer than ever. Eventually the conversation strayed to Akaashi and Bokuto’s love life, which was still at its best despite how busy they were bouncing between two children (they were still the “it” couple, despite all their friends being in established, happy relationships as well); but the special topic that was secretly on everyone’s mind was finally brought up by Haruki.

“So—what have you two _lovebirds_ been up to lately?” Komi teased his Fukurodani subordinate.

“Well…” Saruki rubbed the back of his head, shooting a look at his boyfriend. “We’ve been just, um…hanging out. Eating and whatnot.”

“Neat!” Tetsu nodded in approval with Kiyoko. He was like his father in the way that they thought eating with a significant other was the highlight of relationship happiness.

“Anything to add, Konoha-kun?” Bokuto smirked suggestively.

“Sure,” Akinori shrugged, wine glass muffling his next words. “We got engaged last night.”

Akaashi patted his boyfriend’s back when he choked on his own spit, prompting the rest of their audience to show their shock through laughter and cheers. Tetsu was the loudest, telling Kiyoko he knew there was something different about his uncle’s demeanor that tipped him off. Keiji was the least surprised, because he knew the engagement was in the making after having talks with both his best friend and Saruki—he had become their personal relationship therapist, somehow, and it seemed the ballerina’s gentle but honest advice finally paid-off.

“Are you—Are you kidding me, Saruki?!” Komi said with wide-eyes. “Engaged already?!”

“Well he asked me, and I couldn’t say no!” Saruki defended himself.

“Pfff! Konoha asked _you_?!”

Bokuto yelped when Akaashi pinched his side harshly, the others joining in to congratulate the pair.

“Congratulations, Uncle Konoha!” Tetsurou said sincerely, running over to hug Akinori, who finally gave a little smile. “You’ll have the best wedding _ever_!”

“Tetsu, how could you?!” His father whined. “You said our wedding would be the best!”

“But you’re not married yet! You haven’t even asked mommy to _marry_ you!”

“Yeah, Bokuto,” Konoha teased. “Get on with it, before your _entire_ head turns gray.”

“Who says _Bokuto-san_ is going to propose?” Goshiki smiled slyly. “Akaashi-san’s obviously the one who wears the pants in the relationship.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I wear pants 24/7! Right, ‘Kaashi?”

“Yes,” Akaashi agreed with a small smile. “Sometimes the same pants for a week straight…”

The hour wore on as the friends chatted and cooked together, eagerly discussing Konoha’s engagement and gushing over how pretty their matching rings were; Tetsurou and his uncle explained the ring’s finer details to those who didn’t understand fashion talk, which led to Tetsu telling their guests about the international mathematics competition he participated in that took place in China. Even though they had heard the stories a hundred times, everyone listened with bright smiles at Tetsurou’s enthusiasm over his trip. The only event that could surpass this one was the arrival of the Akaashi family’s newest addition, whom Tetsu obsessed over and nearly shared as much responsibility as his parents.

“By the way, Akaashi, where’s the pretty little baby at?” Yukie wondered.

“Sleeping, thank goodness…”

“Komi’s been asking me all week when we were going to dinner; he’s been _dying_ to see his godchild again.”

“Yukieee, don’t embarrass me,” Her husband complained quietly, forgetting the incident when Yukie leaned over and gave him a kiss.

“You guys are all whipped!” Tetsurou exclaimed. “Daddy, can we go get the baby, now? I want to show Kiyoko how good I am at holding babies!”

“Sure—can’t keep nap times too long, or else that little demon won’t sleep at night,” Bokuto sighed, standing up to head inside. Akaashi grabbed his arm before he could leave, looking up at him with concern.

“I can get her, if you’re not feeling well enough today,” Keiji offered gently. He was always so concerned about Koutarou lifting too much or overexerting himself…it was cute. Bokuto just smiled and kissed Keiji’s hand before entering the house and sneaking upstairs to the baby nursery; the three family members had a fun time painting the walls pale pink, putting the crib together and making sure there was plenty of drawer space for fashionable baby clothes. Bokuto didn’t hear crying or whining, but a shuffling noise alerted his attention to the crib.

Tobio Akaashi looked so much like her mother. Her baby legs were already long and athletic, shown by how she was standing up in his crib, reaching at the bars and curiously glancing around the bedroom with deep, dark blue eyes. Her hair was pitch black, glossy and already full, only difference from Akaashi’s being how smooth and cooperative Tobio’s locks were. There was no doubt Bokuto and his family were overjoyed to finally have a girl in the family, Tetsurou especially, who bragged about his baby sister whenever he got the chance. Tobio seemed to know it, too, waving her chubby hands up at her father when he approached the crib.

“Look who’s up,” Koutarou smiled at his daughter. “Did you have a good nap, Tobi?”

Tobio made a tiny noise of agreement, squirming happily when Bokuto picked her up and held the baby against him snugly; this was the first time Koutarou experienced life with a newborn, and he loved every minute of it, from the three a.m. diaper changes to trying to feed Tobio mashed blueberries. To experience this with his older son and the love of his life? Yeah. Bokuto was happy. He was happy to only be worrying about stinky baby socks instead of looking over his shoulder for enemies who may want to cause him harm.

Bokuto had never felt so warm when he stepped back into the backyard, daughter in his arms as they were greeted by their friends.

“There she is,” Konoha smiled upon seeing baby Tobio. “Seriously, though, how the hell do your kids get so cute?”

“They get it from their mommy,” Bokuto winked at Akaashi, who tried not to blush. “But I take credit for their sense of humor!”

“Tobio has a sense of humor already?” Kiyoko asked.

“Oh yeah! She yanks on my hair and laughs!” Tetsurou explained a bit too happily. “It hurts really bad, but I know she doesn’t mean it.”

“Looks like she slept well,” Keiji chuckled, running a finger over Tobio’s cheek where cloth imprints remained from the baby’s nap. “She’ll probably be hungry soon.”

“She ain’t the only one!” Saruki piped. “Let’s eat!”

The Akaashi family had a wonderful evening spent with their friends and children. When the sun began sinking into the sky, Komi and the others said their goodbyes and returned home; Tetsurou helped his parents clean up the backyard before everyone retreated into the house for the night. While Akaashi was feeding Tobio, Bokuto snuck out to the balcony for a breath of fresh air.

Despite being outside for most of the day, Koutarou still craved the relieving scent of nature—sometimes that was the only thing that helped with the lingering pain in his torso. The scars would always be there to remind Bokuto and Keiji of what they went through to be together, but the ex-hitman knew, eventually, the pain would go away. Shirabu hadn’t been mentioned between them for months, and the mere idea of him was almost forgotten entirely. Once in a rare while, Akaashi would get emotional when he saw the horrid scarring on his lover’s body, but all it took was a reminder from Bokuto to come back down to earth.

“What a beautiful night,” Bokuto exhaled deeply, admiring the starry night sky above as he leaned on the balcony railing. “Summer’s finally here…”

Koutarou scanned his eyes over everything he could see: their decorated yard, blue chairs now free of company, courtyard quiet and lowly lit. Tetsurou had left his hat on the grass, hidden beneath the shadows of the light blue fence; for now, there was room for their children to run and play together, and as much as Bokuto and Akaashi loved this house, they would most likely need to upgrade in a few years or so. Keiji sometimes spoke of having his own garden—Bokuto thought he might want to give his boyfriend that opportunity, and any other opportunity he longed for.

Turning around, Koutarou leaned on the balcony railing and took a long look at their house. At this time last year, the sheer curtains, open doors and lack of privacy from the neighbors would have driven him crazy with paranoia. Now, however, Bokuto found the soft light falling from their bedroom comforting, and didn’t worry for a second about someone sneaking down from the roof to attack him. He even left the doors leading out to the balcony open, which was how he saw Akaashi heading towards him. Bokuto continued admiring the house, but made himself available so the ballerina could sneak in against his side and wrap his arms around the ex-hitman; for a minute, neither said anything, appreciating the hushed quiet surrounding their little world.

“Are you feeling okay?” Keiji asked softly.

“Oh yeah—just needed some air.”

Like all mothers, Akaashi made a concerned expression against Bokuto’s chest; he didn’t want to seem nagging, but he was always worried about the lasting effects of Shirabu Kenjiro’s attack on the love of his life. Sure, Shirabu had inflicted his own attack on Akaashi’s emotional state, but Koutarou had been the one whose life was nearly ripped away in more ways than one.

“…Maybe you should lie down and rest for a bit.”

“I’m sick of resting, ‘Kaashi!”

 _But I’m also not sick of you riding me every night,_ Bokuto contemplated _. Hmm…maybe I should milk this out a little more…_

“I know,” Akaashi reasoned with himself, cuddling further into his boyfriend’s body. “It’s been a year, but I just want to make sure you’re healed properly.”

Koutarou looked down at Keiji and gave him a big smile before planting a soft kiss against the shorter man’s messy black locks. He really did appreciate Akaashi, his caring, loving ways and ability to keep everything in their crazy household running smoothly… _soon_ , Bokuto thought patiently. _Soon he’ll forget all about the past, like I have. He’s just a little stubborn—but that’s why I love him!_

“I know you do, Nurse Akaashi,” Koutarou teased lightly. “And I’m grateful. And I’m _so_ ready to go on our first family vacation to Paris next week!”

The second Bokuto had been cleared for flying, he and Akaashi revisited the pleasant idea of having a family vacation to France. Tetsu was thrilled over the idea, mostly happy that his father was feeling healthy again. He helped Bokuto almost more than Keiji did, bringing him snacks, helping pick out his clothes, even offering to give him massages—it would be nice for all of them to get away together, away from Japan for a week, the first of many family vacations that would become an annual event for years to come.

“It’ll be stressful…but nice,” Keiji agreed. “The six of us will have fun.”

Bokuto’s eyes scrunched in confusion as he mentally calculated how many people lived in their house. Unless Akaashi wasn’t telling him something, he only made it to four.

“…Sorry, did you say _six_?”

“I did.”

“You’re bringing Konoha again?!” Bokuto complained wildly. “He’s not blood related, you know!”

“I know, but he just got engaged—I thought it would be nice of us to treat them,” Akaashi smiled slyly. He enjoyed riling his boyfriend up, even after all these years together.

“We’re paying for _their_ trip, too?!”

Koutarou mumbled to himself, trying to ignore Keiji’s cute smile as he grabbed his arm placatingly.

“Think of it as their reward for putting up with us for all these years,” The mother reasoned. “Besides, it’s not like we’ll see much of them…Konoha said this is basically their first honeymoon.”

“Hmpf.”

To sweeten the agreement, Akaashi leaned up and pressed his lips against Bokuto’s, which immediately made the fish fryer relax. He didn’t think about past consequences, being caught with Keiji, boundaries, domino affects, nothing. There was nothing stopping him from kissing his boyfriend, smiling against the ballerina’s velvety lips like they had all the time in the world, because they _did_. There was no need to be paranoid over their safety, no reason to believe anyone was out to destroy their family. Bokuto was out in the open, on a balcony at night, exposed, open, vulnerable.

And he didn’t mind one bit.

The only thing stopping them was the presence of another person, Tetsurou running out carrying his baby sister and holding her out towards his parents.

“Mom, Dad, Tobio is hungry!” The eight-year-old informed them. “And her diaper is poopy!”

Akaashi groaned in frustration when Koutarou separated them, even though he was used to their quality time being interrupted by crying babies and fashion emergencies.

“Duty calls!” Bokuto grinned, turning away to gently take the baby from his son. “Why don’t _you_ clean his poopy diaper, Tetsu?”

“I did it last time!” Tetsurou claimed.

“Nuh uh.”

“Yeah huh!”

“Nuh _uh_!”

“Yeah _huh_!”

Akaashi rolled his eyes and followed with a smile, walking beside Koutarou as they strolled after Tetsurou, shutting the balcony doors behind them, but not bothering to close the curtains. Sometimes Keiji wondered how different their lives would be if Tetsu had not cheated another fish cart out of a few lousy dollars—but he never spent too long pondering “what ifs.” There was hardly any time for that when they had a family vacation to plan, math tests to study for, modeling gigs to book, babies to feed, cute snacks to make and, Bokuto claimed, time to worship the ground Akaashi walked on. Only in the past few months after Tobio’s birth had the ballerina really felt like a good routine was starting to transform.

Seeing how easily his children adapted to the new situation gave Akaashi comfort and hope for the future.

“Bokuto-san,” Keiji prompted curiously. “Do you think we’ll be together in our next life?”

Bokuto paused in the hallway to think. He looked down at baby Tobio, who giggled up at her father when she noticed him looking; she looked exactly like Akaashi, and Koutarou wished there were even more of them filling the house, more to tease Tetsurou and play dress-up with him. Of course, he loved the life they had right now, but as for the next one…

“In our next life…I hope I’ll meet you again, just like before,” Bokuto smiled slowly. “And I’ll love you all over again.”

Akaashi gave a soft smile in response and gave both Koutarou and Tobio each a soft kiss on the head before grabbing his lover’s hand and leading them towards the living room, where Tetsurou was waiting for the rest of his family. Bokuto was aware enough to realize a few windows didn’t have their curtains drawn, but no longer felt the frantic need to correct them. Instead, the ex-hitman settled in on the couch beside his son and boyfriend, leaned back into the cushions and relaxed every muscle in his body, because he finally, _finally_ felt safe enough to do so.

~~~*~~~

Haruki Komi often met with Fukurodani’s retired clan bosses to discuss business and such, but today he had asked to speak with two specific men at the same hour in the same place. Nothing critical had taken place, no casualties to report, no financial damage underway—if the older men thought anything was out of place, they didn’t show it as Komi and Saruki entered the tearoom, bowing respectfully at the ex-bosses.

“Haruki—nice to see you again.”

“Hello, Aito-sama, Denji-sama,” Komi greeted with a small smile. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

“Of course! Let’s have some tea; sit, sit.”

Haruki crossed his legs and sat across from the other men as Saruki stationed himself in the corner of the room, expression more serious than ever; he waited quietly, not speaking or including himself in the conversation. Aito was the Fukurodani clan leader several years ago, a heavier man now with a long beard and deep-set eyes; his second-in-command for over fifteen-years was Denji, a businessman who helped keep the books and maintain Fukurodani’s wealth. They had both retired hardly a year following Bokuto Koutarou’s imprisonment, enjoying the lifestyle each appreciated before, but with less drama and threat to their lives. If their priceless teacups were anything to go by, Haruki guessed they were even more well-off than everyone thought.

“So, Komi,” Aito began casually as the current Fukurodani boss poured them cups of tea. “How are things on your end?”

“Very good, sir.”

“How’s the wife? Still treatin’ you okay?” Denji joked. He wasn’t known for his loyalty or appreciation of women back in the day; rumor had it he had been married over four times.

“Yes, things are still going well,” Komi nodded calmly. “We’re expecting, you know.”

“Wow! Congratulations, Haruki!”

“Game over,” Denji snorted into his cup.

“The first is always the hardest for new couples, but I’m sure you and Yukie will be fine parents.”

“Well, there will be two firsts this time around.” Komi was very skilled at small-talk. He knew how to get people distracted, how to keep their minds amiss and distant. “We’re having twins.”

“Twins!” Aito cackled. “Boy, you’re going to be one busy man, Haruki-kun.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Saruki, would you mind grabbing that plate of curry egg sandwiches for us?”

Saruki slowly brought over the plate, setting it down quietly and returning to his station in the corner as the other three men ate. Komi picked at his own food, sipping tea just to look busy while absentmindedly listening to the older gentlemen make stupid comments on their meal. He knew neither of them had anything better to do than meet with him, stuff their guts, drink alcohol and spend their money on attractive women on weekends. It was strange how in the yakuza, Haruki was always told that they were family—they stuck together, defended each other, fought for their name no matter what. It was strange because hardly any of the clan had families, wives they didn’t cheat on, children to take care of. Wasn’t that hypocritical?

Haruki thought so. He peeked up at the older men with contempt, wondering how they could be so at peace with the fact that they had no family, no one to go home to, nothing but money to spend and time to kill. That was family to them?

 _It’s because of my own family that I’m doing this_ , Komi thought darkly. _It’s because of them, Yukie, Akaashi, Tetsurou, the twins, Bokuto…_

_They’re my family. And I protect and avenge my family._

“Why so quiet, Haruki?”

“Actually…I have something I wanted to ask you two.”

Aito seemed intrigued, raising a brow behind his teacup and setting it down in preparation for whatever came next. _Almost_ anything that came next.

“Oh? What is it?” Denji prompted. “Trouble on the fort?”

Komi’s eyes briefly met Saruki’s, quick enough where the other men didn’t catch it. Saruki had subtly moved a few feet closer, expression darkening, going unnoticed by the people who definitely should have taken note.

“Why did you set Bokuto Koutarou up for that murder?”

That took both retired men by surprise. Aito’s eyebrows rose even higher, and Denji seemed confused by their new topic; their obvious indifference irritated Komi to no end, but he kept his composure, eyes only narrowing slightly.

“Eh? You’re still hung-up on that?” Aito laughed, like wrongfully putting someone in prison was entertainment. “That was, what, seven years ago?”

“Eight.”

“Eight, then—why are you bringing this up, now?”

“I just want to know the truth,” Komi shrugged, feigning innocence. “I’d like to know the reasoning behind your decision just in case I have to do something similar in the future.”

“What’s there to know?” Denji brushed off casually. “They needed a murderer, we gave them one.”

“Really? That seems a little too simplistic of a reason…”

“Denji’s putting it gently. Surely you haven’t had any theories of your own?”

Komi didn’t look away or break eye-contact. Normally that was disrespectful, but he wasn’t about to let them drop the conversation. They weren’t going to avoid this injustice any longer. Not on his watch.

“We know you were close with Koutarou, Haruki,” Aito began. “It was nothing personal, really…but we saw an opportunity, and we took it. Bokuto was just getting a bit too popular for our liking.”

“What do you mean?”

“People like that kid don’t comprehend how easily they could gain control,” Denji explained further, eating as he did so. “Boy was a dumbass, anyway! And I heard he’s doing just fine after the whole incident with Shiratorizawa. Kid’s a troublemaker, that one.”

“You’ll understand this when your older, Haru—some members of our family…need to be shown their place. Before things get out of hand, or before they do more _damage_ than good. Do you understand?”

The younger boss thought for only a moment, displeasure rising when the stupid, simplistic reason the old bosses fucked up his best friend’s life became perfectly clear.

“…You framed Bokuto-kun for murder,” Komi began slowly. “Because his popularity and reputation were growing. You shut down his leadership and status before he could realize his own potential and eventually become more influential than the clan’s actual leaders.”

“Now you get it!” Aito smiled, like this was reason to celebrate. “Now, why don’t we discuss something more progressive? Denji, why don’t you tell us about your wild weekend in Osaka?”

“You old perv—that’s the third time you’ve asked me about it! Why don’t you go have some adventures of your own for once, eh?”

_Click._

Saruki had quickly moved from his position in the corner, holding the barrel of his handgun against Denji’s skull as Komi pointed his own at Aito’s face. The ex-bosses could barely move their expressions, staring in shock and confusion and unable to move a single muscle. Haruki’s lips twitched just a little, sneering with composed fury so he could give a short explanation about their final circumstances.

“This is for my oath brother.”

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dudes. the ride is over. I feel like i just started this fic a few weeks ago?? Oh well...i've got to take care of some personal stuff (like getting a another job and working on my original novels, ahem), but i do have another long fic planned for someday! Can you say K-pop star Daishou and sexy nurse Kuroo?!!!  
> Anyway, thanks to the loyal commenters and everyone who has bookmarked and left kudos! I hope you enjoyed this story as much as i enjoyed writing it~~~ make sure to check out the fanart for this fic to continue your appreciation🥰  
> (P.s. i wrote a few other long fics like this if u guys r hoes for 100k+ worded fics like me...)
> 
> tumblr/twitter: suguruslut

**Author's Note:**

> "Guess who's back, back again"  
> Thought i'd make a lil comeback with a long fic of my true otp (with background yakuza drama, which i also love). Some might say i've been in a writing slump but i know deep down the trouble i've been having is just because my mental illness is finally coming to a roar after twenty some years(｡•̀ᴗ-)✧  
> so if my writing's a little EHHH you know why  
> Anywhoo, i hope you'll like this fic, adding probably another 100k to my current fanfic stat of 1 million word count╮(. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)╭  
> Enjoy, and thanks for everyone who's been returning to my older writing and commenting on my fics! 💕


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